Touchstone
by fanfar3
Summary: Yes, this one picks up where 'Rite of Passage' left off. Ponyboy is on his way home. He just wants things back to normal, but he can't remember what normal is. Can Darry and Soda help him remember who he was while letting him be who he is?
1. Chapter 1

"Soda?"

"Hmm?"

He didn't move, so I nudged him with my elbow.

"Look," I answered, nudging him again. "Wild horses."

That perked him right up. He tends to fall asleep on long drives out of sheer boredom. But he sighed now, mesmerized as I was by the strength and glory of the herd as they raced alongside us, striving toward the east.

"Whoa…" he said, stifling a yawn in his sleeve. "There must be three dozen out there…"

Even Darry was interested. There was nobody behind us for miles, so he let up off the gas a little to watch. "Jesus," was all he said, though.

I couldn't take my eyes off them. So strong and wild and free. Carefree, too, for that matter. I thought of the stables back home and of Cherry and the way she talked about breaking horses. She saw it as a challenge…something to triumph over. Only now, watching them, did that seem wrong.

Watching the mustangs barreling across the flatlands, I felt a sudden flood of different emotions. Wistfulness. Longing. Irritation. Loss. Anger. Fear. Elation. It was a lot to have swirling around inside, and although I would wonder about it for the rest of the drive, I would never figure out quite what those mustangs meant to me.

I was still thinking about those horses when Darry pulled into a ratty little gas station in Conway, Texas. Soda burst out of the truck like his pants were on fire. Like I said, long drives bore him. He wanted every minute of freedom he could get before having to squash back in the truck with us for another five hours. I didn't blame him. I was feeling a little itchy, myself.

"Hey, Darry," I said, "I gotta use the bathroom. Do you want anything to drink?"

He squinted at the dented old soda machine and frowned. "I don't think that thing's working, Ponyboy." I shrugged, easing out of the truck. Darry handed me the crutches, which he pulled out from under the tarp. It was threatening to rain again any minute. He smirked and handed me some change. "Don't cry to me if you come up empty handed."

I didn't. It creaked and it groaned, and for a minute I was sure he was right. But Soda carried two Pepsis back to the truck, which was all Darry had given me enough for.

Darry finished with the gas and put the crutches back under the tarp. I wiggled back into the center of the seat and took the bottle Soda offered me through the window. He was going to stand outside until the very last second. That first Pepsi was like heaven, I tell you. Coke would do in a pinch, but Pepsi was the thing I'd craved most in the last couple of weeks.

"Man, those horses were so tuff," Soda said, slapping open the other bottle. Then he caught sight of the satisfaction on my face and laughed. "You really are crazy about Pepsi, Pony."

I didn't disagree. We sipped in silence and waited for Darry to come back from the bathroom. But Soda can't even stand still for too long, and he sure can't stand things quiet.

"What do you want to do first when we get home?"

I shrugged. "I don't know. Guess just seeing everybody will be enough."

"Yeah." Soda grinned. "Two-Bit was half crazy when Darry called him this morning. 'Steve said you found Pony. Is he ok? When are y'all comin' home?'"

I grinned. "Hope he left us some chocolate cake."

"Me, too," Soda said. "The food at that place was pretty bad."

I shrugged. "You get hungry enough, you'll think it's the best thing you ever tasted," I replied.

Soda was quiet. He didn't like any mention of camp, and I knew he was sorry he brought it up. I let it drop as Darry made his way back from the bathroom. No sense bringing him down.

"When are we gonna eat?" Soda asked, the sound of the engine nearly muffling his sigh as he slipped into the truck beside me.

"Think you guys can make it to Clinton?"

So we ignored our rumbling bellies. Soda's head dropped back on the seat. He sighed deeply again, resigning himself to being cooped up for another couple of hours. Having finished my Pepsi, I dropped my head against the seat, too. I wondered if we were both thinking about the same thing…the mustangs. And if we were, I wondered if we were both feeling the same weird mix of emotions. Somehow, I doubted it.

As we drifted further and further away from Raton, New Mexico, I found myself aching more and more for home. Some of the weirdness was still there, but it was slowly but surely giving way to relief and a giddy sort of excitement. Things, I imagined, would be as they usually are at our place: guys flung out on the sofa and on Darry's chair in various stages of dress; Two-Bit without his shoes, Tim without a shirt. There would be empty bottles, plates, and glasses littering the coffee table and the floor in front of the sofa, the scatter of a card game either in progress or abandoned while either the T.V. or the radio blared in the background. As soon as we got inside, Darry would growl or full on yell depending on the size of the mess, and the guys would scatter like roaches, grabbing plates, bottles, napkins and other debris on their way to the kitchen. Someone, probably Steve, would use one hand to herd the wayward crumbs from snacks they shouldn't have been eating in the living room into his other hand, only to have someone else, probably Two-Bit, slam into him as he headed for the trash can, and those corralled crumbs would end up down the front of his shirt and on the floor. Darry would roll his eyes and get the vacuum cleaner. Yep, a normal homecoming. No matter how long we'd been gone, it was usually the same.

I pretended to sleep just so I wouldn't have to watch Darry sneak glances at me every few minutes. It just made me jumpier. I would've thought he'd calm down by now, what with leaving camp and all. But if anything, it seems he's gotten worse since we left. I didn't really understand why that would be…the danger was over. I was safe and reasonably sound. No more Kent. No more Charlie. No more Greg. Yet he kept looking over at me. There was nothing in his flat gray-blue eyes to tell me what he hoped to see, but it was clear he didn't find it because he just kept on looking. So I closed my eyes, and I let myself drift.

I wondered about Kurt, stuck in Raton City until at least Tuesday. I thought again about Wade, the unlikely MP. Tustin. Miller. The few friendly faces I'd come away with. My Dad used to say there was a lesson in everything. Try as I might (and I tried until Darry swung off the highway in Clinton), I couldn't figure out just what the lesson of RCJMC was.

Soda and I both opened our eyes and blinked in the early afternoon sun. Gino's Pizzeria, a little brick building between two taller buildings, looked like it had been squatting there since the turn of the century. The sign was broken, so at night it would say Gi o's izz ri. The small front windows were dirty, and the sidewalk out front was badly cracked like a phantom mouth waiting to be fed. But the blast of air that hit us as we pushed open the door was thick with the aroma of Italian food.

Soda was drowsy as we piled into a booth meant for six or eight people. My mouth watered at the spicy scent of pepperoni, oregano, and basil. Darry smiled wanly at the waitress and ordered an extra large pepperoni pizza and three Pepsis. Soda yawned and looked around. Darry and I just looked at each other and searched for something to say to fill the stilted silence. He was giving me those looks again. Or, at least, with my eyes open, I could see him still giving me those looks.

It was fairly empty, but it was about one-thirty on a weekday. I figured most folks were working and that we'd arrived just after the lunch rush. There was evidence to support that guess in the form of several uncleared tables. As if she'd read my mind, our waitress, Sofia, called out,

"Roberto! Clear!"

From my seat I could see into the kitchen a little. She stood like a riled up little bulldog just inside the saloon style doors. A dark haired boy who looked about my age glanced up at her from his book, and then he went right on reading. That pissed her off. The saloon doors stopped swinging, so I couldn't see what was happening, but I could pretty well figure what was going to happen. A faint thudding noise and his yowl of protest confirmed that I was right. I guessed she smacked him upside the head with her chubby palm.

"Ma!" he cried, "I've got to finish this chapter before class tonight!"

"You shoulda read it last night like I told you!"

Darry cocked one eyebrow and smirked. He, too, was listening. I guessed that nagging was the same all over, but I didn't say it. Soda chuckled and elbowed me, though.

"Sounds like Darry," he said. Better him than me. Darry turned his gaze to Soda and said,

"Well, someone's got to make sure things get done. If I didn't ride you two we'd be up to our necks in garbage and dirty clothes and there wouldn't be a single crumb left in the kitchen."

"Think we should stop at the market on the way home?" Soda asked.

You could tell Darry hadn't thought of that and that he was surprised Soda had. "If Steve, Tim, and Two-Bit have been hanging around for two days, I guess we'd better." He sighed and rubbed his face. I felt sorta bad for him then. He was dead tired. I'd slept like the dead for the last two nights, so I had no idea whether Darry had or hadn't slept. Based on his appearance, I'd guess he hadn't. Not well, at least. I was glad tomorrow was Sunday so he'd have a whole day to recuperate before work on Monday.

We didn't talk to one another. We just sipped our Pepsis, waited for our pizza, and listened to Sofia rag on Roberto. I swear she nagged him up and down the restaurant and back. Clear the tables. What's the matter with you? You know how to clean a table! Clean that table up right. Roberto, you forgot to refill the salt and pepper shakers. Put the booster seats away. You've only been working here half your life, Roberto. You should be able to do this with your eyes closed.

And all the while he said nothing except for the occasional "Ma!"

That's just how it would be, I decided as Sofia placed the pizza between us on the table. I nearly drooled as the scents that had hit me as we walked in magnified by about a thousand. I could feel the heat radiating from the pizza.

"Enjoy," Sofia said brightly, dealing plates to us like playing cards. And then she was chasing after Roberto again.

Soda, never good at waiting, burned his fingers grabbing the first slice. Though I thought I'd die if I didn't get to close my mouth over a piece of my own soon, I waited. Darry cracked a grin watching Soda suck on his wounded fingers.

"Serves you right," he said mildly.

When Sofia finished seating a family of four and made her way back to us, Darry and I finally each took a slice, lest she think there was something wrong. Soda, meanwhile, was halfway through his slice. In that way that waitresses have, she chose to ask Soda how it was, and he was forced to mumble his approval through a mouthful of food. Still, this seemed to satisfy her and she turned her attention back to poor Roberto.

That first bite of pizza nearly killed me. I wanted to fall down on the floor and weep as the tangy, cheesy, gooey flavors burst in my mouth. Darry and Soda were both amused at the contented sigh that escaped as I chewed.

It was over far too soon, and we once again were crowding into Darry's truck. We were less than three hours from home, but it still felt distant and a bit unreal. I guess even Soda could tell that Darry was exhausted, because he offered to drive the last leg and Darry accepted. He doesn't usually like to have Soda drive, because Soda drives like a maniac. But I guess the thought of making it home in two and a half hours instead of three sounded good to him, too.

The closer we drew, the more I wanted to get there. By the time Soda pulled into the little corner market at Marsh and Tucker, I thought I'd go nuts. If I hadn't been on crutches, I could've run home in under fifteen minutes. Can't it wait until tomorrow? I wanted to ask. But I just kept my mouth shut and ticked off every excruciating minute they were in the store. It really wasn't all that long, just long enough to get a few staples…TP, eggs, milk, bread, and bacon. Guess Darry figured he could shop for lunch and dinner tomorrow if need be.

I held my breath as Soda wheeled around the corner, turning onto our street. I was horrified at the way my eyes went blurry with tears, and I swallowed as hard as I could, hoping to swallow them down. It seemed to work, because when our house came into full view, it was only as wavy and distorted as it ever was. I knew it would be a matter of seconds before the gang knew we were here, but for those brief seconds I just breathed and stared at the rusty gate, which always hung just a little crooked, and the sagging front porch that Darry kept saying he needed to fix.

Jesus. I was home.

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry to be gone so long. I wasn't expecting my hiatus to last that long, but life got in the way! I can't promise the updates will be as quick this time around, but I promise not to go a year between updates like some folks do! Also, I realize this first chapter is a little low key, but I hope you enjoy it, anyway.**_


	2. Chapter 2

You'd think Elvis had just pulled up in front of our house from the way Two-Bit burst through the door. He let out a holler to wake the dead when he saw my hair.

"Man, Pony," he shook his head, "Didn't you get enough of those wild Indians last time?!"

Soda handed me the crutches before dashing into the house. He's had to pee for the last hour. Mr. Kardasian at the corner market won't let anyone use his bathroom after a greaser died in there last year.

Two-Bit's eyes narrowed as I came out from behind the door of the truck. "Darry, I thought you said he was ok!"

"He _is _ok," Darry replied flatly, grabbing my duffel.

Steve stood on the porch just watching us. He lifted his chin at me by way of greeting. "Bet you're glad to be home." Yep. He couldn't honestly say he was glad I was home, so instead he just stated the obvious. Must be a bummer having to share Soda with me again.

Tim sauntered out last, tucking a cigarette into his mouth. "Hey, kid. Had a little trouble at camp, huh?"

I nodded. "Little bit." A guy like Tim isn't interested in the details, only the end result. So seeing my wrapped knee and the scattered scrapes and bruises told him all he cared to know.

"Hey, Darry," Tim greeted, grabbing my duffel and Darry and Soda's bags so that Darry could get the sacks from the market.

"Everything been ok around here?" Darry asked.

Tim peered into the bags in Darry's arms. "Yep. Good thing you bought some necessities, though."

Darry nodded and smirked. "I figured."

Two-Bit hopped around behind me as I tried to navigate the porch steps with crutches. He got sick of waiting, though, and he grabbed me around the waist and hauled me up the four steps. "Mathews Express at yer service," he said.

I just shook my head at him and crutched my way into the house. Things were pretty much as I'd expected. Crumbs, bottles, and glasses littered the coffee table, with playing cards scattered amidst the debris. A variety show blared from the T.V. It was hotter in Tulsa than it had been in Raton City, and I felt moisture begin to slick my body.

"Ponyboy, why don't you sit down so we can get through?" Darry asked from somewhere behind me.

I eased onto the sofa and put the crutches on the floor in front of me just as Soda burst out of the bathroom and tackled Steve. _Together again_, I thought as Steve grinned and pinned him. But I didn't really mind. It was good to see Soda carefree again.

Darry's voice boomed from the kitchen. "Two-Bit!"

Two-Bit winced. He has a bad habit of leaving the contents of our refrigerator on the kitchen table. If I had to guess, I would say the milk was there along with the peanut butter and the jelly. The bread was probably still open with slices spilling out of the bag. A knife still goopy with peanut butter was probably glued to the oilcloth, crusting over on the top.

Steve and Soda were making too much racket on the floor for me to hear whether I was right about the kitchen, but the fact that Two-Bit wasn't joining them on the floor meant that I probably was.

Tim stood watching them for about a half second before stepping over them to dump the bags on Soda's bed. When he reappeared, he gave them another look and sauntered over to the coffee table. "You'd be smart to help me pick up this junk before Muscles finishes killing Two-Bit in the kitchen," Tim said, not bothering to raise his voice. He pinched four empty glasses, two in each hand, and headed for the kitchen.

Soda elbowed Steve and said, "You heard him. Get moving."

Steve hauled Soda up by one arm. "I move, you move."

Soda shook his head, grinning wildly. "Not my mess. Besides, I gotta unpack our stuff. I've gotta get some laundry going if I want to have clean jeans for work tomorrow."

He gave Steve a final shove toward me and the coffee table.

Darry passed Steve coming out of the kitchen and nearly dropped the glass of water and the towel of ice cubes he was carrying. He handed me the water and two aspirin. When I was done swallowing them, he handed me the ice bag he'd made out of a kitchen towel, ice cubes, and a rubber band.

"Put that knee up for a while," he ordered.

I wanted to argue that we'd only just walked in the door, but I could see from his face that he was grumpy. He's usually grumpy when we come in from somewhere, especially when the house is a mess. I didn't want to fight, so I just swung my leg up on the couch and plopped the ice on top of it.

Steve came back out to swoop the crumbs from the coffee table, just like I'd pictured earlier. I guess he made it safely, though, because Darry didn't stomp out of the kitchen to get the vacuum.

Things were chaos, as usual. Soda got the laundry started. Darry hollered at Two-Bit again, this time shoving him out of the kitchen with a clean dishcloth and the furniture polish. Steve ducked into our room to hide from Darry and keep Soda company, and Tim decided it was time to cut out. He's not a fan of getting bossed around, and when Darry gets going, he'll boss anybody he sees fit. If you're here, you're eligible. So he was taking himself off the roster. Two-Bit knelt down beside the coffee table as he went by, but he craned his neck back up toward Tim.

"Wish I'd thought of that," he joked. Tim just sneered at him.

"Take it easy, kid," he said over his shoulder, letting the screen door slap shut behind him.

I was more than a little annoyed being stuck on the sofa while everyone else bustled around the house. If it weren't for my knee, Darry'd have me in the bathroom with a toilet brush and the scouring powder. Though I guessed the sofa was preferable to more latrine duty. KP wouldn't be so bad, though. I didn't mind chopping carrots or peeling potatoes for supper. But the sounds of dinner prep started, and I was not asked to participate. Soda stumbled across my Louis L'Amours and thoughtfully brought them out to me, dropping them on my chest with a lopsided grin.

I gave in and lost myself in the one I'd been reading before our little midnight mystery drive. I didn't expect to really get any reading done, not with so much going on around me, but I was surprised when a shadow appeared above me. Darry grabbed the dripping ice towel off of my knee. I hadn't noticed it was melting because it hadn't fully penetrated the bandage.

"Dinner will be ready in a few minutes. Go clean up," he ordered. He was still cross.

"Yessir," I replied, already getting up off the sofa. He whipped around and gave me a long look. "What?" I asked. And then I realized. "Oh. Sorry," I said. "Force of habit."

Darry didn't answer. But I didn't miss the way his face softened as he turned back toward the kitchen.

* * *

I convinced Darry that I could do the dishes just fine since it didn't mean I'd have to crutch around anywhere. He probably thought I was nuts for volunteering, but I guess he was tired and liked the idea of just sitting down in the living room in front of the T.V.

I washed and Two-Bit dried. At least he sort of dried between rubbing my head and chuckling, anyway. He asked me a couple questions about camp. I sort of got the feeling that Darry had sternly warned him not to talk about it, because every time he asked me something, Two-Bit's eyes flicked over to the kitchen doorway, probably to make sure Darry wasn't standing in it. Just before I twisted the faucet closed, he scrubbed my head with his hand again and giggled,

"You're right about your hair, Pony. It sure looks goofy, but it feels real tuff."

I didn't answer. Now that I was back home, surrounded by the gang, my hair really bothered me again. I wished it would grow back to the way it was before school started, but I knew it wouldn't even halfway get there. No point in whining about it, either.

Soda and Steve were back on the floor by the coffee table, playing a fast game of sevens. It's not as fun with only two people, so when he saw us, Soda grabbed the cards from Steve's hands and scooped up everything they'd already played out and began to deal us into the game. I watched, but Steve didn't bother to roll his eyes. Maybe he knew it was pointless to argue.

I felt sort of edgy. There wasn't anyplace I could really go or anything I could do with my knee wrapped up, but I sort of wished one of the guys would suggest a movie or something. Course, I'd have to pay to get in. I wouldn't be jumping any fences for a while.

I ticked the hours off in my head. Seven o'clock, drill. Eight o'clock, p.m. inspection and light clean up. Eight-thirty, p.m. showers. Nine p.m., rest hour. Ten o'clock, final headcount. Ten fifteen, post up the next day's duty sheets and listen to the guys grumble about what was on them. Ten-thirty, lights out. Almost like clockwork, I felt myself wind down as ten-thirty approached. I tossed my cards on the table and said, "I'm gonna go sit on the porch."

Darry looked at me for a long second, but I guess he figured there wasn't much trouble I could get into out there. He turned back to the T.V., which he wasn't really watching, anyway. Unless there's a game on, Darry just sort of stares into space and thinks about stuff or he'll read the newspaper. I suppose he couldn't find it and was too tired to go looking for it.

It had cooled off some since the sun went down, and I flopped on the old sofa on the porch. I guess it was a little cloudy, because I couldn't see many stars. I was pretty disappointed by that. At camp, I didn't have much time to look at the stars, except when I pulled fire watch. And most of the time, it was cloudy there, too.

It was nice to just lie there with my eyes closed, listening to cars whisper down the street. Somewhere, a dog was howling. Maybe he was bored. Maybe he was lonely. I heard some yelling down the street someplace, distant and muffled. After a few more minutes, there was a sound like glass breaking. I wondered if it was from the same place as the yelling.

It wasn't long before the sounds of the neighborhood lulled me to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry so short. Just setting the scene.**


	3. Chapter 3

"Puny!"

I sat up. Kent was standing over me. Had I just dreamt being home? It felt so real, the horses and the pizza place and Two-Bit ruffling my hair every ten seconds.

"I'm talking to YOU, Puny! GET UP!"

I got up.

"Did I tell you it was rack time?"

"No, sir." I tried not to yawn, but it slipped out.

"You've got a latrine to clean, Puny!"

So I shuffled in there and grabbed a toilet brush. My leg hurt something awful, and I tried to remember what I might have done to it. There was a bandage on my hand, too, and I peered at it, wondering what was happening. But then Kent barked at me to move my ass, so I started scrubbing furiously.

I was just finishing when I could swear I heard Soda's voice behind me.

"Pony?"

What? What was he­—

I blinked in the bright light as he flicked a switch. It wasn't the latrine after all. It was _our _bathroom. At home. Soda blinked right back at me, his hair all mashed up against his head. He had a crease on his face from the pillowcase.

"What're you doin'?" he asked sleepily. "It's three o'clock in the morning…" He looked from my face to the toilet brush in my hand.

I put the brush back in the bucket and the cleanser on the toilet tank, where it usually sat. I didn't answer him. I didn't know what I was doing.

My heart hammering in my chest, I limped back toward our bedroom, wondering where my crutches were. My knee was killing me. I rolled into bed, facing the window, hoping Soda would just go back to sleep.

It was stupid to think he'd just let it go. I felt the weight of him sinking onto the edge of my bed a few minutes later. He scrubbed a hand over my hair.

"Somethin' wrong, Pony?" he asked softly.

I shrugged. "Just a bad dream, I guess." I didn't tell him that I'd _been _there. I'd stood right in the moonlight next to the first of the two stalls. And then I rounded the corner and started cleaning the toilet, the tiles cold under my stocking feet. We had tiles, too, but ours were bigger and flatter. The ones in the latrine were small and more like stones. They had a height to them and rounded edges. Like those little pillowy pieces of gum from the machine at the drugstore. I'd felt those hard little pillows under my feet. I'd _heard _Kent. I'd seen Kent.

Soda rubbed my shoulder in small circles, the way he does when I have the stomach flu or when I have that dream I can't remember. I let it carry me away, back toward sleep, even though I was sort of scared to fall asleep. I knew he thought I meant I'd had _the _dream, though I know he was wondering why it would make me get up and clean the toilet. I didn't correct him, though. Better he thought so than find out I must be going nuts.

* * *

"Hey, Soda!" Darry called from the kitchen.

I rolled over in bed and looked over at Soda's. He wasn't in it. The beside clock said ten-thirty. After waking at four a.m. every day for the last month, I was pretty surprised I'd slept so late.

The crutches were leaning against my desk. I didn't remember putting them there. I heard the shower curtain screech aside.

"What?!" Soda called back.

"Buck's on the phone! Can you make it in early?"

"Guess so! Soon as I get out of the shower and dressed!"

I eased out of bed, onto my feet. My whole body hurt, still feeling my nature walk. I thought about the night before as I stripped out of my camp clothes and put on all fresh ones. I could have used a shower, but since Soda was in it, it would have to wait. I hoped Soda wouldn't tell Darry I was having nightmares again. The last thing I needed was to have him giving me even more funny looks.

It's impossible to sneak up on someone when you're on crutches, but Darry didn't turn around. He just said he'd fix me a sandwich since I slept through breakfast. I nodded. There it was. That look. That tiresome questioning look. I sighed and grabbed the comics section of the paper. I like the Sunday paper because they're in color. The rest of the week, they're in black and white.

"Need some aspirin?" he asked from right over my shoulder, and I jumped about a foot. I nodded quickly. He looked at me for a long minute. "You okay?"

I looked at him wide-eyed, like I didn't know what he meant. "Sure, Darry."

He wasn't convinced, but it wasn't like he could throw me against a wall and demand answers. Well, actually, he could, but for the time being he was tiptoeing around me, which was sort of scary if you want to know the truth. And it made me think even more that if I told him about my dream the night before, he'd think I was nuts.

He put a PB & J and a glass of milk in front of me and went to nag at Soda until he could get him on the road.

I heard the screen door slap shut.

"Hey, Darry, you seen my wallet?" Two-Bit asked, his usual cheery self.

"Why would I see your wallet?" Darry asked.

"Dunno, but I can't find it. Not much in it, anyways, except my license. Don't suppose anybody else could pass as me, but I'd hate to get stopped by the cops." Two-Bit's voice grew louder, and then he appeared in the doorway. "Hey, Pony. Seen my wallet?"

I shook my head, my mouth full of sandwich. I thought he would duck out again and resume hunting for his billfold, but he grabbed a kitchen chair and turned it backwards, shaking his head.

"Pony, there's this new movie playing at the Nightly Double. I tried to talk Kathy into coming with me, but she says I'll just get handsy with her soon as the movie starts." He shrugged. "You up to it? Wanna come with me tonight?"

I swallowed my sandwich. "Sure," I said. I still had a couple of dollars tucked in the dresser drawer that I hadn't been here to spend. More than enough for a movie and snacks.

"Saw Cherry over at the A & P. My mom sent me for some milk," he added, knowing it would require explanation. Two-Bit has been barred from the A & P for continually helping himself to lunch. He just wanders through the store, popping grapes and pocketing whatever else he can. Every stockboy, both checkstand clerks, and the cleanup guy know him by face and by name, and they're under strict orders not to let him run loose in the store. Mr. Mackey, the store manager, is sweet on Two-Bit's mom, so turning him over to the police would not have bode well for his love life. So he told Two-Bit to move along and if he ever needed to shop for his mom, to come straight to the management office with his list. Otherwise, regardless of his feelings, he'd have to call the cops. So every now and then Two-Bit is forced to spend some time at the front of the store, convincing Mr. Mackey he has a chance. It's a real good thing that Mackey is shy as they come, otherwise he might find out for himself that Two-Bit's mom is too bitter and let down to let anyone else love her like that.

Anyway, I grinned as Two-Bit told me how Cherry asked about me. I still didn't understand quite how we ever hit it off in the first place. Part of it, I guess, was simple fascination on her part. Cherry's one of the most curious and interested people I know. She wants to know everything about everybody, and she's not really shy about asking. She's got this soft way about her that eases things out of you that you never meant to say. But you don't regret it for too long, because then she gives you that smile of hers, the one that makes you want to give her even more. She'd be fantastic as a carnie.

"She still working at the stables?" I asked, which was dumb. Cherry was as horsecrazy as Soda. Whenever the two ran into each other, it was all they talked about.

Two-Bit nodded as he fixed himself a sandwich. "Says you should come by some time, watch them run the ring."

I'm not horsecrazy like Soda, but I used to like to watch them gallop in the exercising ring. After seeing those wild horses, though, I wasn't sure it would be as interesting. I just shrugged, and Two-Bit let it drop. Silence fell over the table as Two-Bit bit into his PB & J. He goops them so full that some of the insides come out the other end as he eats. I finished my sandwich and shoved my crumby plate under him just in time to catch a big glob of jelly. He just gave me a close mouthed grin, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk storing acorns.

Darry wandered back into the kitchen and rolled his eyes at Two-Bit. "You just ate an hour ago. I know because it was my food you ate. You're worse than Soda."

Two-Bit just gave a muffled laugh.

"Ponyboy, I'm going to drop Soda off at work and pick up a few things from the store. Stay off that knee."

I nodded. He made me another kitchen towel ice pack and ordered me to the sofa.

I picked up my glass to take it to the sink, but he snatched it out of my hand. I rolled my eyes at him, but he didn't see me.

As soon as they banged out of the house and the engine started, Two-Bit brought what had to be his second sandwich to the living room along with a glass of milk. He grabbed the playing cards.

"Wanna play some blackjack?"

"Sure." I put my right leg up on the couch and sat the ice towel on my knee.

We played blackjack for all of two minutes before Two-Bit realized no one was home to hear him ask questions.

"So, what happened to your knee?"

"Did Darry tell you anything?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Nup. I know you went missing. Soda told me that. But Mr. Muscles said if I knew what was good for me I'd keep my mouth shut and let you alone. He said to pass it on. What's the big secret?"

I frowned. "I don't know," I admitted. "Darry's being kind of weird about it."

"You don't say," Two-Bit gave me his best shocked look.

I checked my down card. I had two sixes. I flipped the down six over and said, "Split hit."

Two-Bit put two cards down, one on each of the sixes. "So?" he asked.

"So, what?" I considered my cards. Sixteen and thirteen. I tapped the thirteen for a hit.

"So, what happened?"

"It's a long story," I said, realizing that for Two-Bit to really understand how we got dropped in the middle of nowhere, he'd have to hear about a lot of the other stuff.

"Stand," Two-Bit said of his own hand after dealing me a nine, busting my thirteen. It didn't matter. It's not like we were playing for anything. Sometimes if Darry and Soda aren't around we play for pennies. I have a jar in my room. When it's full I'll have Darry get me some wrappers from the bank, and then I'll turn them in for bills. Two-Bit just keeps track on a piece of notebook paper, which I hide in my desk drawer under a bunch of old school papers. Two-Bit says we'll settle up when I turn sixteen. But he told me that when I was thirteen, and I don't think he knows I'm going to hold him to it. He owes me about eighteen dollars. That's a lot of blackjack.

When I didn't say anything else about camp, Two-Bit prompted me again. It wasn't like there was anything else going on, so I told him about Greg, Charlie, Paul, and Kurt. And I told him about Kent. He listened without saying a single word or cracking a single joke, which, if you know anything about Two-Bit, you know that's some kind of record or something.

"Wow, Pony," he said finally, shaking his head as he picked up one of the many hands we'd played by making gestures at one another, "that's crazy. I mean, the judge sent you to that place to straighten you out, not that you needed any. And then they bend you up worse than you started with."

I nodded. "I don't know why Darry's making such a big deal out of it. I mean, I'm home, aren't I? Safe and sound. Mostly, anyway," I said, gesturing at my knee.

Two-Bit didn't answer that. He just dealt another hand.


	4. Chapter 4

Something was bothering Soda. It was more than obvious, largely because he hadn't said two words since we left the house. And he hadn't said goodbye to Pony, which was more than odd. I tried to give him time, because I could see every time I glanced at him that his mouth was working. He started to say something several times, but either the words wouldn't come or he didn't want to tell me.

Finally, though, I had to prod him.

"Spit it out, Soda," I ordered as I rolled the truck to a stop at the side of the road. If he was going to drop some sort of bombshell on me, I didn't want to hear it while I was driving.

He just opened his mouth and closed it again, shaking his head. An eerie cold feeling crept through me, then raced. He'd been talking about the army a lot lately. Not so much once Pony left for camp, of course. It didn't seem likely that he would have enlisted before we drove to New Mexico, and he sure hasn't had time to do so since then. And there was no way he could keep quiet for that long about it, anyway. Still, it turned my blood cold, just the very thought of it. It would be just like him to get stars in his eyes about all the tuff stuff he'd seen at that camp and go off and do something stupid. I wondered with some horror if he'd somehow been able to sign up while we were there.

"SODA!" I yelled louder than I should have. Louder than I had to seeing how he was sitting less than an arm's reach away.

"Darry," he shook his head, as miserable as I've ever seen him. "I got up to pee last night and Pony was in the bathroom scrubbing the toilet. Just scrubbing away in the dark. And when I said his name and turned the light on, he looked all glassy. Hell, he looked stoned. I asked him what he was doing, and he just went and got in bed." He shook his head again. "Something's wrong, Darry. He wouldn't even tell me, just said he must've had a bad dream." Soda stared out the window, but I doubt he saw a thing.

I pushed a hand through my hair. I didn't know whether to be relieved that he hadn't enlisted or sorry that that wasn't it. Of course I wasn't sorry. But it just confirmed what my gut had been telling me since Pony marched back into camp. It had changed him, and maybe not for the better.

I sighed. "Ok. Everything's going to be okay, Soda. I'll keep an eye on him today. Maybe he just needs a little more time to adjust, put it behind him."

"Think we should take him back to that doctor, like with his nightmares?" Soda's eyes met mine, full of worry. Ponyboy was just about the only thing that could make him look like that. Sometimes I wondered if he ever got that look about me, and even though it irritated the hell out of me, I felt a little stab of envy at the thought that he probably didn't. He and Pony just had something special. Something that no matter if I wanted it or not, I could never have with Pony because I had to be a parent and not just a brother. And that meant that Pony would never completely trust me, because there was just something about authority that did that to a person. Respect, sure. Love, you only hope so. But complete trust, trust over everything he thought and felt…never. I knew there were secrets he and Soda shared. Things Pony would never even think to tell me. Not because he had to think about hiding from me, but because he just did it automatically.

"Darry?"

I blinked. "I don't know," I shook my head, hating that I couldn't figure just what was best. Even worse that I couldn't fix it, didn't know how. "I mean, it didn't really help, did it? He still has those nightmares."

"Yeah, but not as often. Hardly ever. Unless they've been bugging him again. But he'd tell me, wouldn't he?" Part of Soda's desperate worry was that he was going to lose that bond. I could see it all over him. I've always wondered if there would come a day when they eased up on each other a little, found some distance. I alternately hoped so and hoped not with equal fervor. It was dangerous to love anyone that much, because in the end, you lose everyone or they lose you. And when you lost…the getting back up again was torture.

"Sure, he would. He tells you everything. Just keep your ears open, and let me know if he gives you any hints." I hated having to use Soda as a spy. I knew he hated the times when I'd ask him to report back to me on Ponyboy. But it just wasn't natural for him to confide in me. I remember having that when it came to Mom and Dad. The natural holding back of some things. Things you were afraid they'd think was stupid or talk you out of or tell you were wrong even though you knew you were right. Ideas and dreams you didn't want anyone to shoot down, even if only accidentally. Soda never fired those shots, and that's why Pony told him everything.

I pulled back on the road. Soda was done talking, but he wasn't done worrying. When I dropped him off at the DX, I told him,

"It'll be okay, Soda. We'll get through this just like we get through everything else. Okay?"

He nodded, but I knew he wasn't convinced.

I swung the truck back toward home. I'd have to try to talk to Pony, even though it would probably be useless. All he ever gave me was "sure" when I asked if he was okay. Maybe he knew I didn't buy it, and maybe he didn't. But it sure wasn't making him spill anything. I wondered if holding him down and tickling him would work, like it used to bust the secrets out when we were kids. Back in the day when his worst fears were of closet monsters and the shadows that were made in his room at night by clothes left out on the line.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Two-Bit was just sweeping up the cards to shuffle again when Darry returned from the market. Normally, he'd expect me to help him carry whatever it was he brought home, but I knew if I tried that now, he'd bark at me to get off of my knee, so I stayed on the sofa with a sigh while Two-Bit sauntered outside to help.

He hadn't bought much, just four bags. Money was tighter than ever, what with all the hospital bills and the doctor bills and all. It just made me feel worse about my leg being messed up, because any hope I'd had for working the rest of the summer until school started was out the window. Then I thought about track and felt even worse.

They rustled around in the kitchen putting the groceries away, and I gave up and picked up that L'Amour book. I was almost finished with it. When I finished the other one, I'd be in real trouble, because then I'd have to beg Two-Bit or somebody to take me to the library. No one but Darry can keep quiet in there. It's embarrassing.

Finishing the book took longer than I thought, though, because my mind kept wandering. Two-Bit left right after they put the groceries away. He gave me a smirk on his way out. It was self-preservation. If he'd stuck around much longer, Darry'd put him to work on something. Ol' Two-Bit figures he works hard enough now that he finally took a job.

Darry fussed around the house. We were about due for another visit from the state, and I knew he was feeling like someone had us all under a microscope. When he really gets going, no one is safe. He even brought me the laundry basket and told me to fold. I didn't mind, really. Gave me something else to do. Though I still itched to get up and move around. It was like I had jumping beans in my pants. I felt sort of guilty and jumpy just lazing around when there was so much that could be done. Every time he came back around the living room I felt my heart kick up a little, waiting for him to get on me about still being on the sofa even though I knew he wanted me to stay there.

The folding barely took any time at all. I saw the furniture polish and the rag still on the coffee table and wished Two-Bit hadn't already cleaned it yesterday. Reluctantly, I went back to my book. I kept listening to Darry make his way through the house and couldn't really get into it. When he came out to grab the vacuum, Darry thought to pick up the ice towel, which was pretty cold and soggy now. I waited for him to get on my case for letting the couch get damp from the runoff, but he didn't. He just grabbed the laundry basket full of folded clothes and switched the radio on for me on his way back to his room.

Music was something I hadn't really heard for a while, seeing as how there were no radios at camp and the one in our truck didn't work. The Doors, the Stones, Elvis...they were some of my favorites. Some DJ who thought he was smart played Groovin' because of how it mentions Sunday afternoon. It bugged me when people tried to be hokey like that. I picked up the book again as a form of protest, but I still couldn't quiet my mind enough to get anywhere with it.

I kept thinking of Kurt and how he turned out to be a pretty nice guy. I thought of how it was the same with Randy Adderson. You classify people by who they hang around with. It's automatic. But it doesn't tell the whole story. It doesn't tell you that Darry has a lot of older Soc friends who, now that they've gone away to college and seen some more of the world, come back to Tulsa and seem surprised at how much things didn't change. They're surprised to find out the rumbles and the jumping and all still go on. They try to go have a beer with Darry and talk about old times, but it never works out because if they go to a greaser hangout, everyone shoots Darry dirty looks for bringing a Soc into their territory. If they go to a Soc place, everyone watches the Soc with curiosity and Darry with suspicion and disgust. Darry doesn't accept their invitations anymore. He just acts sorry when he says he can't make it just then, maybe another time.

I wondered if things would work that way for me, too. Would I grow up and away from things like hopping the fence at the Nightly Double, fistfights and rumbles? Would I ever be able to walk by my lonesome without nervously looking out for nice cars full of bored rich guys looking to get their kicks by pounding on any old greaser? Would I ever lose claim to the word greaser? If I did, would the guys still want me hanging around?

Darry wasn't meant to be a greaser. If not for us, me and Soda that is, he'd be a Soc. Everybody knows it, but no one says it. Soda says he can't imagine things ever being different, but if they were, he can't imagine ever living anyplace else but here. I imagine all sorts of different things, mostly about a place in the country somewhere, away from where everyone takes sides. But I don't know if I really believe it's possible. Some days it seems like it. Some days, it doesn't. Mostly, it doesn't.

I tossed the book aside with a sigh, wishing I could figure out what to do with myself that didn't involve thinking myself into a bad mood.


	5. Chapter 5

_Sonofabitch. _I pulled with all my might, but the collar nut wouldn't give. I swear, this house is going to be the death of me. It'll just keep falling apart piece by piece until there's nothing left. The landlord sure got the best of me when he offered to wheel and deal on the rent if I took care of simple repairs. Simple my—

"Hey, Darry?" Pony peered down at me from the bathroom door. "I forgot to ask you earlier, but can I go to the movies with Two-Bit tonight?"

The hope on his face had me opening my mouth to say yes, but then I caught sight of his knee. He wouldn't be much good in a fight if any Socs decided to make trouble. "I don't think it's a good idea. You're a sitting duck with that knee."

"C'mon, Darry," he pleaded, looking desperate. "It's just the movies. Two-Bit's driving there and back. I won't get out of the car, I promise."

I pulled again, sure the thing was going to break before it ever loosened. I swore under my breath. "Straight home after," I said, pulling again. I saw him start to say something and cut him off. "No lip."

He sighed and nodded, still watching me. "Maybe if you heat it, it'll loosen up," he suggested.

I tried again. Nothing. Ponyboy had disappeared from the doorway, but just as I was scooting out from under the sink, he returned with one of the many cigarette lighters that floated around in drawers all over the house. They were remnants of his smoking habit…one that I was sort of glad he'd given up. It cost a fortune, for one. And I knew he'd run faster without it. I still held out hope for a track scholarship.

With a look of determination, he sparked the thing and held it steady next to the collar nut, slowly moving it around the perimeter. When he moved the lighter away, I tried the wrench again. Surprisingly, this time when I pulled, it gave. I met his eyes, and he held my gaze for a few seconds before he straightened up. He looked away, grinning just a little.

Though I hated to ask, I was too curious not to. "You learn that at camp?"

He shook his head, still smiling softly. "Nah. Science class," he explained. "Heat expands. Cold contracts."

Funny. I'd learned the same thing. I wondered then what other helpful information had gotten lost in all the bill paying and the sweating on roof tops. And then I put that sort of thinking away, because it wouldn't do me any good.

"Where are your crutches?" I asked, noticing for the first time that he wasn't using them.

He shrugged, looking guilty. "Living room."

I just looked at him until he started to fidget. "Keep off that knee, Pony. I mean it."

He nodded. "Yessir."

He was gone before I realized he'd done it again, called me "sir". My chest tightened up at that. Don't get me wrong. There isn't anything I don't like about Ponyboy showing respect to his elders. I'd like to think that when he's off on his own out there, like at school or when he worked the railroad job, that he used those labels with his teachers or his superiors. But the fact that he was spitting that stuff out at home…at _me_…that was different. Pounding something into someone day after day until they can't help but spit it out everywhere they go…that isn't respect. That's fear. And that's why the "yessirs" and the toilet scrubbing rubbed me the wrong way. That's why Pony's constant need to be in motion at camp bothered the hell out of me. Because he wasn't doing it because he wanted to. He did it because he was afraid _not _to.

I finished taking the p-trap apart. For a bunch of guys, we sure can gunk up a sink drain. I grimaced as I cleared enough slimy hair and other unknown substances out of the thing to make a bad rug for a bald guy. Then I put the trap back together and made sure nothing was leaking. Last thing I needed was the landlord getting on my back.

* * *

Two-Bit showed up around seven-thirty. Being summer, the movie wouldn't start until around eight-fifteen. It wouldn't even be completely dark out yet, but it would be dark enough to start the show. Darry repeated his orders to Two-Bit…straight home after, no messing around. And he told Two-Bit I was supposed to stay in the car unless I had to go to the bathroom.

Two-Bit nodded. "Yeah, yeah. And if he has to go potty," Two-Bit baby-talked, "I hafta go wid him."

I socked him in the shoulder as hard as I could manage, seeing as how he was right next to me. He just laughed and rubbed my head. I'd sure be glad when my hair grew out. Between him and Soda, it's a wonder it doesn't rub right off. It's like they think I'm gonna start granting wishes or something.

Darry actually nodded at him, agreeing that I needed a chaperone. I let it go. If I argued, he'd just try to use it as an excuse not to let me out of the house.

We goofed around until about ten to eight, and then we got up to leave. When Darry saw I didn't grab my crutches, he called, "Ponyboy!" and pointed at them without another word.

"Darry, it's a few feet to Two-Bit's car and then I'll be sitting down the rest of the night!"

He gave me another one of those hard looks like he had in the bathroom. "You don't take them, you don't go at all." I guess he didn't miss me rolling my eyes at him, either, because his voice got the sharp, dangerous edge. "Watch it, Pony."

Two-Bit put a hand on my shoulder. "Why not bring 'em?" he asked me rhetorically, "They'll make a great weapon!"

There was no use in arguing, so I just gimped out to Two-Bit's car and got in. At least I was getting out of the house, where nobody would be giving me funny looks for a while. Well, Two-Bit might, but they would just be plain funny and not about me.

* * *

A familiar looking Corvair eased into the space beside ours. I grinned.

"Hey, Cherry!" I wondered what she was doing on this side of town, when the Socs have a perfectly good drive-in movie theater on the west side.

She gave me one of those easy smiles of hers, and I no longer cared why she was at our drive-in. "Hi, Ponyboy. I heard you were back from camp. Two-Bit says you hurt your knee."

"Just a sprain," I told her. I could see someone was next to her in the car, and I craned my neck to see who it was.

"Hi," Randy leaned forward and waved, but he looked glum.

I gave Cherry a questioning look, but she said nothing. He climbed out of the Corvair, and she turned back to talk to him for a second. I watched him move off toward the concession stand.

"What's up with Randy?" I asked.

"I thought I'd drag him out of the house. He's been having sort of a bad summer. He didn't really feel like going out tonight, but I told him I wouldn't take no for an answer." She didn't elaborate on what was putting him in such a bad mood.

I wondered what sorts of things bothered a guy like Randy. I'd tutored him last spring, and I remember him and his dad fighting. Maybe they still were.

"Want a Pepsi?" Two-Bit asked.

I gave him a dollar. "And some popcorn."

The movie wasn't going to start for another five minutes. Cherry leaned out a little, and I could tell she'd caught sight of my hair. Oh, man. Not again. But she's too nice to just rub a guy's hair without asking.

"Wow. Two-Bit said it was a military camp, but I didn't know they'd make you cut your hair."

I shrugged and pretended not to care. "It'll grow back."

"I think it looks handsome. There's something very…handsome about the military." She wrinkled her nose at me, silently laughing at herself. "Maybe I'm just a sucker for the uniforms. Did you have those, too?"

I nodded. "Even the formal ones."

"Wow. Don't suppose you have any pictures of that."

I could tell she was getting a kick out of my embarrassment, so I tried to stop letting it show. If you want to know the truth, I didn't really mind her asking about camp for some reason, even though she was razzing me. It was just everyone else that I wished would stop.

"Nah. We could barely have pencils to write letters with," I said. "Nobody had a camera. It's not like it's anything anybody wants to commemorate, sending junior off to military camp to straighten him out."

"You didn't deserve it," Cherry said.

"Maybe I did," I shrugged.

"Ponyboy, all you did was run away from home. It's not like you robbed a liquor store!"

I shrugged again. "Judge said I was too impulsive. Said camp would fix that." I wondered if it had. But I guess being stuck at home, I haven't really had a chance to find out yet.

"Anyway," Cherry said, smiling again, "I'm glad you're back. How much longer will you have to use those crutches?"

I shrugged. "Until my knee feels better, I guess. No one really said how long it would take. Why?"

There was a little bit of a breeze, and it blew a strand of fiery red hair across her face. She crooked a finger around it and tucked the wayward lock behind her ear. "Thought you might want to drop by the stables sometime, help me exercise a couple of the horses."

I'm not horsecrazy like Soda, but I like to ride when I get a chance. Not that I'm any good at it or anything. Just good enough not to fall off. "Sure."

Randy returned, and Cherry turned away from me to help him with their drinks and snacks.

I wondered why I couldn't get the sight of her smoothing her hair back out of my head.

Thankfully, I didn't have too long to wonder. Two-Bit came back with our stuff, and I focused on the sweet quench of Pepsi and the buttery heat of the popcorn. And then the movie started, and I sat back hoping it would sweep the oddly persistent image of Cherry Valance out of my head.

It wasn't five minutes into the movie that Two-Bit started yapping.

"When I went to get our drinks, I saw that Randy head off over by the john. He's got a flask on him."

I was surprised. After Bob died and Randy pulled me aside to talk, one of the things he told me was that he was done with drinking. Drunk, he'd given me and Two-Bit and Johnny just as much a ration as anybody else, but I knew better than to hold a drunken fist fight against a guy. If I did that, I'd have to hate Two-Bit and Steve, not to mention Darry and Soda. And Tim. Especially Tim. They'd all been guilty of it at one time or another. For Darry, that says a lot because he never used to touch a drop, back before Mom and Dad died. After…well, I guess there were a couple times when he made an exception.

I chewed on that for a while, figuring that whatever was going on with Randy had to be pretty bad if he was drinking. Bob was his best friend, just like Johnny was my best friend. I knew how that loss could tear a guy up. I pretended for a while, but I knew all along Johnny was dead. Randy had never lied to himself the way I lied to myself…but it seemed like he'd stayed true to that promise, at least as far as I know. We're not close friends. I don't figure that's possible. But I liked to think that Randy and I had become friends as much as we knew how. And I didn't like it that he was on such shaky ground.

I love movies, but for some reason, I couldn't get absorbed in this one. I kept wandering to Cherry's hair, to Randy's misery, to my own boredom. And when Cherry got out of her car about a half hour into the show, I saw Randy watching her until she was gone before taking a flask out from between him and the door. He noticed me watching him but said nothing. Cherry wouldn't like him drinking. She didn't like when Bob drank, because he got into fights and started trouble. Like cornering me and Johnny in the park, for instance.

I guess Randy got uncomfortable with me watching him. He took his flask and got out of the Corvair. He headed back toward the john, even though he'd just been over there. He was gonna run right into Cherry.

I don't know whether I wanted to warn him, or whether I just wanted to make sure nothing bad happened. I got out of the car, leaving my crutches in the back seat. Two-Bit started to get out, remembering his promise to Darry not to leave me alone anyplace, but I snapped,

"Lay off, Two-Bit. I'm just going to the john."

The tone of my voice surprised him. I don't usually talk to anyone like that. He didn't like it, but he gave me a long look and stayed put.

My knee hurt, but I was surprised to notice it wasn't as bad as it had been. That cheered me up some as I looked for Randy's blue shirt in the crowd. Instead, my eyes hit on Cherry on her way back from the ladies room. She smiled at me, and I grinned in spite of myself.

"Randy's got a flask," I told her flatly. Her smile disappeared.

"Ponyboy, can you go find him?" she asked. "You know how he gets. I don't want him to start trouble or do something stupid."

Randy wasn't the real aggressor. That had been Bob. But he'd been known to take a swing or two if he got mad enough, and I knew Cherry was afraid it wouldn't take much to get him mad enough.

I nodded. "I'll try. What's going on with him, anyway?"

"I don't know, exactly," she answered helplessly. "He's been like this almost all summer. All I know is he's been working with his dad since school let out. He was looking forward to it, you know, because he said he and his dad were getting along better, and then all of a sudden, about two weeks ago, he got quiet and he got angry and it's just getting worse and worse."

"I'll find him," I told her. "Don't worry."

She seemed to feel a lot better when I said that. I watched her walk back toward her car and realized she believed me. She believed I would find him, and she trusted me. It was a good feeling. I just hoped I wouldn't let her down.


	6. Chapter 6

Steve and Soda banged in about thirty minutes after Pony left with Two-Bit. I shoved the bills in the manila folder with a sigh and tossed the checkbook on top of it. It was not the time to discuss the family finances. Not that Steve isn't family, but no one but me and Soda needs to know just how grim things look right now. When Pony was working the railroad job, we were just barely making it. Now, with two sets of hospital bills…I didn't want to think about it. It would keep until later. Not much later, but later.

"Hey, Dar," Soda greeted on the way to the fridge. "Where's Pony?"

"I let him go to the drive-in with Two-Bit," I said absently, opening a letter from Child Services.

"What's that?" Steve asked, flopping on the kitchen chair that Two-Bit had left backwards.

I folded it back up. "Just a reminder about the follow-up hearing next month."

Steve frowned. "What's there to follow up on? Stupid bureaucracy."

"Doesn't matter if I like it or I don't. It just is." I tossed Soda the red marker we used on the DX calendar to keep track of important stuff. "August 25th," I told him, "Eleven a.m."

Soda dutifully flipped the page to next month, circled the 25th, and wrote "COURT 11" in the square. Then he tossed the marker back to me when I wasn't expecting it and it bounced off of my jaw.

"Nice," I said, realizing it was open when Soda pulled an apologetic face and started laughing.

"Sorry," he said, just before taking a swallow of milk.

"Take it easy on the milk," I said over my shoulder. "Have water."  
He pulled another face, this one not so apologetic.

"I'm not kidding, Soda. Put it back."

He did, but not before asking what I was so grumpy about.

"Life, Soda," I answered, heading for the bathroom to see what we had that would remove red permanent marker from my face.

I heard them thumping around in the kitchen for a few minutes, and then Soda called out that he was going out. I asked where, but he was already out the door. "Yeah, Darry, why don't you come along?" I asked to myself, grabbing a bottle of rubbing alcohol. "Havea little fun for once." As I blotted some alcohol onto a washcloth and began to rub my jaw, I sighed. "I don't remember what that is…"

* * *

Randy wasn't too hard to find. He was out behind the bathrooms. A lot of guys spent intermission back there, smoking or drinking or doing harder stuff. I wasn't supposed to go back there, but I didn't have much choice.

"Hey," I greeted. He just looked at me and kept tipping the flask. "What's going on?"  
He didn't answer. He just offered me a cigarette. I can't tell you how bad I wanted to take it. Some days I don't care. Some days I do.

"Nah," I said. "I'm hoping to beat your record in track next spring. But first, I've gotta wait for my knee to heal up."

Randy looked at it, noticing the bandage and my limp for the first time. "What happened to you, Ponyboy?"

I shrugged. "Got into trouble for running away. Judge sent me to this military camp. Got into a little more trouble there." I didn't want to tell the whole story, and it wasn't time to talk about me. "What have you been up to this summer?"

He sighed and swigged again. "Working for my dad." He made a face.

"I thought things were going better with you two."

Randy's father is a very charming, very friendly guy. Friendly in the way that politicians are friendly, though. Calculated. Wanting something. Greasing wheels, making nice. Never burn a bridge, Ponyboy. That was his advice to me when Randy told him I was tutoring him in English. I'm not sure what it had to do withme or with tutoring.

"I fall for it all the time," Randy nodded, his voice cracking a little. He looked away. "But it never lasts. He thinks I have no ambition, and I think he's got too much. But now I know it's not ambition he's got. Just greed. He _needs_power, Ponyboy. He needs it like a junkie needs drugs. Money and power. And he doesn't care who he has to step on to get them."

I waited for him to go on, but he just took another swallow. I moved to stand against the wall. I felt a little unsteady since all my weight was on my left leg. "What happened to make you so mad?"

He just looked at me, like he was trying to decide how much to tell me. I mean, like I said, we're not best buddies or anything. Some things you just don't want to talk to any old friend about. It did make me real curious, though, the longer he looked at me, trying to decide. Finally, he sighed heavily. "My dad's a phony, Ponyboy. I mean, I never liked his whole 'win, win, win!' philosophy. You know how driven he is, how he pushes and pushes people. He kept pushing at me to come to work with him this summer, so I did. He put me to work filing, said he worked his way up from the ground and so would I."

"Well," I said, "that sounds fair, right?"

He just stared at me. "My dad never started at the bottom of anything, Ponyboy. He started his business straight out of college."

Randy's dad owned a lot of companies, but what started it all was Adderson Metalworks. Randy's dad owned his own metal shop, and it just grew and grew until he had the metal company plus a couple of plastics factories. He made his money in manufacturing, riding on the backs of the blue collar men (and a few women) who worked for him. But Gerald Adderson wasn't blue collar and never had been.

"So, what happened?" I asked again, sounding like a broken record. It was okay, though. Randy was too crocked to notice or care.

"He's a fraud, Ponyboy." Randy looked at me, and this time there was a profound sadness in his eyes. There was shame. "I think he put me to filing on purpose, so I would find out the truth. He's got two sets of books, man." He watched me, waiting for me to understand what he meant. When I just blinked at him, he got mad. "Ponyboy," he said impatiently, "my father's an embezzler! He's stealing from his own company!"

Oh. I didn't know what to say to that. There was nothing in the world a guy could say to make that situation any better. Lamely, I asked, "Does anybody know?"

He shrugged. "Anybody else in the business? Who knows."

"No. I mean, like the police or something."

"Not yet."

"Not yet?" I echoed.

"It's only a matter of time, Ponyboy. The next automotive manufacturing strike, or if the pipefitters' rally goes south…" he shook his head. "If the demand for metals goes down, who knows?"

"Not likely, with everything that's happening in Vietnam," I said.

"It's the pension fund, Ponyboy. He's stealing people's futures. If I don't stop him…" Randy looked at me again, and this time his eyes were desperate. I used to think I'd give anything for me, Darry, and Soda to get to live his life for a few days. Havehis house with the pool table and the swimming pool and a maid to keep things clean. See what it was like to have people meet you and respect you instantly just because you were wearing the right clothes. Because you had money.

I thought about Tim, finally turning his life around, finally putting away little bits of money here and there. If you caught him in a good mood, you might hear him talk about what an upstanding citizen he was turning out to be. A regular Everyman Joe. It was folks like Tim who'd suffer. Some of them old, already retired. And if it was the pension fund, that meant their retirement money could disappear overnight. And then what? Some of them were sick, others just too old to work anymore.

We sat there in silence for a minute or two. I figured Two-Bit would be looking for me about now, unless maybe Cherry filled him in on what was going on. I wondered if Randy was going to say anything else.

"What would you do?" he asked me suddenly. "You're a heroic short of guy, Ponyboy." He'd started to slur his words.

"No, I ain't," I told him. "I'm just a guy, Randy."

"Well, you shaved thoshekids from burning. You'd do the right thing." He nodded. "You'd turn him in, wouldn't you? Shave the little people?"

I didn't like the way he was talking. Saving the little people. But he was drunk, and there was no sense getting offended. He'd be embarrassed about this tomorrow, about the way he poured out everything to that greaser kid from school whose friend killed Bob. We might have found a tenuous friendship, but if Randy had been sober, there was no way we'd be having this conversation right now.

"But you don't undershtand, Ponyboy. You don't undershtand what ratting out my dad would mean. He'd go to jail. And we'd loshe everything." He spread his arms in a big sweeping motion as if to show me the whole big world he'd lose. And then I understood. If he told on his father, he'd end up in a greaser neighborhood. Maybe a nicer one than mine, but still a greaser neighborhood. And just now Randy Adderson couldn't think of anything worse than seeing how the other half lived.

Soda or Two-Bit would havelaid him out flat by now, what with the things Randy was implying and all. That it was better to rob innocent, hard working people than to be an honest greaser. Of course, most greasers were a little fuzzy on the honest part. Given a shot at what Mr. Adderson was up to, a lot of them wouldn't think twice. But I was thinking of our gang, of Darry and Soda and me; and Two-Bit and Steve and even Tim, at least for now. Darry's hair was turning gray just keeping us all together, and meanwhile a lot of people who'd already done the same thing, people who were tired and due a rest…they stood to have the world pulled out from under them all because a Soc kid didn't want to lose his swimming pool and his fancy house.

I didn't punch Randy. There was no point in it. It was like he said that day in his car. Greasers would always be greasers and Socs would always be Socs. But maybe they wouldn't always get all the breaks after all. Maybe some of them would fall.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Soda, you don't even like the movies," Steve argued.

"I know it," I answered. "There ain't nothing else going on. Might as well see what Pony and Two-Bit're up to."

Man, I was bored. We'd already cruised the Dingo and stopped in at a party that got broke up by the police ten minutes later, and now we were cruising toward the Nightly Double. Steve would park on the street a block away and we'd jump the fence, though, because I never had any money of my own any more. Everything's been going to Darry lately. No matter. There was usually a lot of free mischief for me and Stevie to get into, but it was Sunday night. Only reason Darry let Pony go to the movies was because school was out.

"Check it out," Steve said, pointing across the street. "Looks like Sheila's stalking another poor buffalo."

I giggled. Sheila was what you'd call a naughty girl, alright. It was a running joke that she was like a saber-tooth tiger on a buffalo. She found a guy, slinked around until the time was right, and then she pounced on him. Mostly when a guy was drunk and horny. She'd give you the best night of your life and leave you itchin' the next day. And all us poor old buffalos ended up red-faced at the free clinic on 5th and Elvert for some special shampoo because we'd rather go there than be caught dead buying it at the corner drugstore. I'd done a little standing around at the free clinic myself. Wasn't fun at the time, but these days it makes me grin to remember when I was Sheila's buffalo.

I yelled "BUFFALO!" out the window, and me and Steve sped off to leave the poor guy wondering what the heck it meant. He pulled into a little package store and cut the engine.

"We could go to Mike's place, see if there's a poker game on," Steve suggested.

I shrugged. "Let's just stop and see what's going on. Then we can check out Mike's. We're already here."

I don't really get why Steve and Pony rub each other the wrong way. They think I don't know they aren't each other's favorite people. I may not be book smart like Pony, but I ain't dumb about people. It's pretty easy to see what they're thinking. Steve thinks I'm too soft on Pony and doesn't want him tagging along with us. Pony hates the way Steve thinks he's a kid that doesn't know anything, and he really hates that Steve thinks he's always underfoot.

It isn't that Steve hates Pony or nothing. He just thinks he's too young for stuff. He isn't really good around little kids, and he sees Pony as a little kid even though he's not little. But he was real worried about Pony when his back got all cut up. It wasn't the same, but I know he thought about Johnny, and I know he wondered if Pony was gonna die like Johnny did. Steve kept fussing that we should take Pony back to the hospital. Sometimes I think about telling Pony that, but I don't think it would really help. They seem determined not to dig one another, but they tolerate each other okay, so I just leave it be. Some things you just can't change.

Steve didn't argue, anyway. He just hopped the fence and waited for me to do the same. I caught my foot coming down and nearly flattened him, but he just shoved me and rolled to his feet. "Jesus, Soda. Make a little more noise, why don't you?" But he grinned.

I shrugged. "Just thought your love life was a little boring lately. You might be getting desperate." I batted my eyelashes at him and leaned in like I was going to smack him on the cheek. He put his palm on my face and shoved. I laughed and this time he laughed, too. He was already looking for Two-Bit's car, figuring on making a hasty hello and goodbye of it.

We caught sight of Two-Bit's car at the same time, and we both noticed Two-Bit was leaning against his passenger door, his hands flying all around as he talked to someone in the next car. What we didn't see was Ponyboy.

We kicked it up to a jog at the same time.


	7. Chapter 7

I didn't know what to say to Randy to get him to back to Cherry's car so she could drive him home. I figured he'd had a couple drinks before Cherry picked him up, though, because the volume of that flask wasn't enough to make even the biggest lightweight this hammered. While he'd been talking, I'd slid down against the building until I was sitting beside him.

His head bobbed a little, and I knew he was close to falling asleep or flat passing out. But just as I reached over to take the flask, his head whipped up. "You know the worsht part?" I didn't answer, but he went on talking, anyway. "I jusht wanted him to be proud of me without trying to turn me into my brothersh."

Brothers? I guess Randy saw the confusion on my face, because he nodded exaggeratedly.

"Brothersh," he nodded. "I have two older brothersh. All grown up and moved out and wivesh and kidsh and picket fenshesh. Making tonsh of money and doing jusht shwell. He'sh alwaysh asking me why I can't be more like them. He should've been ashking himshelf."

Okay. This was getting bad. Really bad. And it wasn't like I could pick him up and carry him back to Cherry's car. If we sat here much longer, someone was bound to make trouble either with him or with me. Decisively, I reached over and plucked the flask out of his hand. Then I struggled to my feet, which wasn't easy with my knee and no crutches.

"Give it back," he said, reaching clumsily for it.

"Randy, man, I think we should go back to the car."

"You think we have it sho good," he shook his head, "but money just makesh you want all the wrong thingsh, Ponyboy. And if it goesh, it'sh harder for us than for you. You can't missh what you never had. But if you have it and you loshe it, that'sh the worsht."

"Randy, c'mon, we need to go back to Cherry. I'm sure she's worried about you."

"She doeshn't like it when Bob and I drink. She'sh not worried. She'sh pisshed off. I can't go back to her like thish. I'm jusht gonna shtay here until it wearsh off."

"You can't do that, Randy," I said, wondering how the hell I was gonna get him on his feet. I grabbed his arm and tugged. "C'mon, Randy, get up."

He was too plastered to remember what he just said about Cherry, about staying where he was until he sobered up. He stumbled to his feet, and then he fell back against the wall. Since I still had his arm, I stumbled with him a little.

"Go on back to Two-Bit," he mumbled. "I'm not good company. I'm jusht going to shtay here for a while…"

"No!" I told him, stopping him from sliding back down onto his butt. "We're going back to the car, and Cherry'll take you home."

That he did understand, and he didn't like the sound of it. He looked at me, his eyes flashing dangerously. I wasn't sure he remembered whose side I was on anymore. I waited for him to swing at me. I expected him to try. But he just sort of pushed me a little bit and slurred,

"Ponyboy, the lasht placshe I wanna go is home." He tried to walk away from me. I'm not sure where he planned to go, but I easily blocked his path. Without the building to hold him up, he swayed crazily, like that last bowling pin teetering wildly on the lane, refusing to fall.

"Nah, man," I said, staying where I was while his mind, muddled with liquor, tried to come up with a way to get past me. "We're gonna go back to Cherry's car. Maybe we can go someplace else, like a diner or something. You don't have to go home."

"Don't be a jerk," he spat, still swaying. "Move, greashe."

"Randy, I'm your friend, and I'm not letting you wander around town like this." I said, though I wasn't sure it was true now or if it ever had been. It wasn't the label that did it. He was drunk, and I was a greaser. But I wondered again if a greaser and a Soc could ever really be friends when the rest of the world seemed to want to keep drawing those lines.

"We're not friendsh," he said, pointing at me accusingly. "I don't know what we are." He shook his head like he was trying to clear it. I really thought he was gonna fall back on his butt, but it was like his feet were glued down. "You're jusht a greasher, and I hate greashers…" His face sort of pinched up then. "And I'm–I'm gonna be a greasher shoon becaushe my dad is shtealing money from old people, and I–and I…" He stumbled forward into me, and I danced backward with him, trying to find balance so we didn't both end up on the ground. Just as I got us steady, he got mad and took a swing at me. He was too drunk to actually land the blow anywhere near me, but I pushed him a little, just enough to get him out of my space so I could get my footing. This time he did fall backwards on his butt, and he rocked back against the building a little. It was enough to push him over that woozy edge. He passed out cold.

Great. Just great.

* * *

Two-Bit looked four shades of horrified when he saw me and Steve coming up on him. And then I noticed who it was he'd been talking to in the next car. That pretty red-headed Soc that Ponyboy talked to all the time. Cherry. She was looking pretty nervous, herself.

"Where's Pony, Two-Bit?" I asked accusingly. I saw his crutches on the floorboard in the backseat and it just got me angrier.

His expression changed from horrified to miserable and he started babbling. "I don't know, Soda, I've been looking all over for him. He went out after Randy, and I thought for sure he'd be back in a minute, but then he wasn't, and I shouldn't have let him go without me, I know that, but he–"

I grabbed him by his collar, too angry at him to say a word. But then I just shoved him away. I was letting my worry over Pony get the best of me, but he'd been through enough already. "C'mon, Steve, let's look around some more," I said over my shoulder, already marching toward the concession stand when I heard quick footsteps behind me. "Stay–" It wasn't Two-Bit like I thought. It was Cherry.

"It's my fault, Soda," she said, her eyes full of worry and apology. "Randy was upset and he was drinking, and–"

"And you thought it was a good idea for Ponyboy to be anywhere near him? What-" I stopped short. I sounded so much like Darry for a second I scared myself. I just shook my head at her and grabbed Steve's shirtsleeve. "You go check the concessions. Two-Bit," I called, "you go check the seats again."

I'd knock Two-Bit's head in if something happened to Pony. He shoulda known better than to let him go off anyplace alone, especially with a Soc. And without his crutches, even. Golly, even I knew better than to let a guy on crutches wander around by his lonesome. Maybe I was overreacting, but it seemed like lately Pony was having a good run of bad luck. This would just be the cherry on top, all right. Just try explaining it to Darry, too. If I wanted to hit Two-Bit, I didn't want to think about what Darry'd do to him.

"Hey, Pony!" I called, hoping if I couldn't see him that he could at least hear me. For a Sunday night, the place was pretty crowded. Clouds had covered up the moon, and half the walkway lights don't work. The asphalt was sticky from all the drinks people spilled running into each other in the dark on their way back to their cars.

"Soda?" He looked bewildered first, and then relieved. "Man, I'm glad you're here."

"You okay?" I looked him over quickly, but there was no sign of blood or bruises. He looked a little worked up, though.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said, turning back toward the restrooms. "It's Randy," he said over his shoulder, limping behind the building, not even waiting for me to follow.

Adderson was slumped against the back wall of the bathrooms, three sheets to the wind. I shook my head. What did I care if a Soc wanted to get drunk and pass out? But Ponyboy looked bothered by it. He looked up at me anxiously.

"C'mon, Soda," he said, already ducking under Randy's right arm. "We gotta get him back to Cherry's car…"

I wondered what the hell he cared, anyway, but he looked real worried. I knew he and Randy had sort of become friends, you know, if being friends was really possible. I didn't understand it, and I sure didn't trust that Randy. After all, he'd been right there watching his friends drown Pony in the fountain. Maybe even helping. Seemed sort of unlikely that he'd turn around like that and want to be buddies. But Ponyboy said he was okay, you just had to get to know him. And you had to look past all that money stuff.

"Soda," Ponyboy said again, "are you gonna help me or not?"

I didn't want to. I wanted to tell Pony to let Cherry call some of her friends to come out after him, but he had Randy half sitting up and I didn't want him to put too much stress on his knee, because Darry would kill me if it got worse and he found out I could've stopped it. I knew he was hoping it wouldn't affect Pony's performance in track. He's got his hopes pinned on a scholarship to get Pony to college.

I grabbed Randy's left arm and ducked under it. Together, we hauled him up. The motion of it sort of brought him around, and he helped us out a little bit, too confused to do much except play along. "You didn't drink anything, did you, Pony?" I asked, wincing at the incredibly strong smell of vodka. It didn't seem possible that it was all Randy.

"Heck, no," he grunted, struggling to keep up his half of Randy. I slowed down a little, realizing I was probably walking a lot faster than he could limp. "Darry'd skin me. He barely let me out as it is."

I grinned. I should've known better than to think Pony would drink. He was a good kid, if not a little too trusting sometimes.

We made it all the way back to the cars before Randy really started coming around. Cherry got the passenger door open, and Ponyboy backed up against the door until he couldn't go any farther. I realized we should have taken the opposite sides. I should've been where Ponyboy was, because now he'd have to take all of Randy's weight for a few seconds in order to get him into the car. But Ponyboy didn't even think twice. He just braced his right foot up on the edge of the floorboard, leaned back against the door a little, and put his hand on top of Randy's head so he wouldn't smack it on the roof as he sort of folded Randy up and got him into the seat. He didn't even break a sweat over it.

Randy, though, he opened his eyes and looked at Ponyboy for a long few seconds, his head sort of wobbling on his neck. "You're trash," he said, his eyes dull and his voice flat. "You are." Ponyboy didn't react. He just held Randy steady so he wouldn't fall out of the car onto his face. "And I'm gonna be just like you."

Ponyboy's jaw twitched at that. Randy passed out again. Cherry ducked into her car to hold on to Randy so he could close the door. Good thing the top and the windows were up, because he fell against the window with a thud as soon as Pony got the door closed.

Ponyboy just stood there for a second, looking at him. There wasn't any expression on his face. He looked like he looked at that camp. I didn't like that.

"C'mon," I said, putting my hand on his shoulder. His whole body was tight. He was wound up, waiting for something. "Movie's over, Pony," I said, giving him a little shake. "Darry's expecting you home."

He glanced at me, then looked back at Randy. Then he nodded, yawning, and walked around to the passenger side of Two-Bit's car. Cherry climbed back out of the Corvair, her eyes huge again.

"Thanks, Ponyboy," she said. I could hear the genuine gratitude in her voice. "I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't been here."

He nodded at her. "Can you get him home okay? Is there someone that can help you if he's still like that when you get there?"

"I think so. His oldest brother is in town for a few days."

"I hate to have his father see him like that," Ponyboy said.

"Don't worry," she said, smiling a little. "His father's at the plant in Michigan for a few days." She paused, her brow furrowing. "You know, Ponyboy, he didn't mean what he said."

Ponyboy just nodded at her again. "I know."

Her smile widened. "That's what I like about you, Ponyboy," she said, placing one hand on his arm, "You look past the ugliness, and you find the truth about people."

"If you see him sober before I do, tell him no hard feelings."

He stood there until she slipped into her shiny little car and then watched until she was just taillights tapping, turning out onto the street.

Two-Bit and Steve were just making their way back to his car, and they both looked sort of annoyed.

"Where the hell have you been?" Two-Bit asked angrily. Before I knew he would do it, he gave Ponyboy a pretty good shove. He stumbled backwards against me and then righted himself again. I opened my mouth to tell Two-Bit to ease up, but Pony interrupted me.

"It's no big deal, Two-Bit," he said, ducking into the car. "Let's just get home before Darry blows a gasket."

I looked at Steve and Steve looked at me. Then we both looked at Two-Bit, who was looking back at us in amazement. After all of that, we all felt that he owed us the full story, but he just shut his mouth tight and waited for Two-Bit to start the car.

"Steve, Soda, you guys need a ride?" Two-Bit asked finally, when it was clear we could wait all night long and not hear a damn word about what had been going on. Steve shook his head and clapped me on the shoulder to get me moving. I backed away from the car to give Two-Bit room to get out of the space.

Ponyboy was just fine. He wasn't cut up or bruised, and he was calm as anything. So why did I feel so uneasy? Something was wrong about this whole thing, about everything. Nothing had felt the same since he'd been home, and I didn't like it. I didn't know what to do to get things back the way they were. That matter-of-fact thing Pony had going lately shouldn't have been such a big deal, but it was. I didn't know why, exactly, but it was. Nope, I sure didn't like it. And I was gonna have to get to the bottom of it before whatever it was built up and exploded.


	8. Chapter 8

**_A/N: Very short chapter. Let me know if this is too over the top._**

* * *

I thought sure Steve and Soda would follow me into the house, but even Two-Bit stayed in his car. He was pretty steamed at me. He didn't even say goodbye, just jerked the wheel away from the curb and took off as soon as I had my crutches out of the back of his car. It bugged me a little, but I figured if he wanted to pout just because I wouldn't explain everything that had happened, well, let him pout. It was none of his business. Soda waved out the window as Steve took off. Guess they just wanted to make sure Two-Bit took me straight home.

Darry was watching some movie on TV, which surprised me because he's not much for movies. "How was the movie?" he asked absently.

"Nothing special," I said. I was awfully hungry, seeing as how I ordered a drink and popcorn that I didn't even get to enjoy. I was tired, though, too, so I just slapped a quick peanut butter sandwich together and skipped the jelly altogether. I thought Darry would make his way into the kitchen to give me more of his looks, but I guess he really was interested in that movie. "'Night, Darry," I said on my way to my room. He made a noise that sounded like "G'night."

You can be tired as anything, but for some reason, the second you turn out the light, your mind starts to race. I don't know why that is, but it's always the same. I thought about Randy, about how being drunk made him mean. It made a lot of people like that. Folks like to say the truth comes out with a little alcohol to lubricate the lips. But it seems to me like alcohol is more like a mirror…and you end up spitting out all the ugly things you feel about yourself. You can be pointing at someone else and talking to someone else, but really you're just seeing yourself. And what Randy saw was trash.

I tried to imagine what it would be like, having everything that Randy had and then losing it all and having to live with much less. Our house wasn't too great, I knew, but I also knew I saw it in a gentler light than someone like Randy would. Still, I couldn't really put myself in his place because I'd never been there. Seeing all that stuff he had in just a few hours after school was a whole lot different from living there every day. You get so you take things for granted and don't really see them anymore.

I drifted off wondering whether Randy would blow the whole thing wide open or not. It bugged me that I knew about what his father was doing, because it seemed like if Randy didn't tell, I should. It would be wrong, wouldn't it, to sit by and let all those pensioners lose everything they worked so hard for all those years? But who would I tell? And I sure wouldn't want to catch the heat I'd catch for snitching. Best to leave it alone, probably…

* * *

I heard the slap of the screen door and murmured, "Hey," to Soda. When he didn't answer, I glanced toward the door. A shadowy movement, so quick I thought I might have imagined it, brought me out of my chair. With less than five minutes to go, I'd miss the ending.

"Soda?" I asked softly, not wanting to wake Ponyboy.

_What the hell? _

I hit the door in two strides as I realized it was Ponyboy climbing up onto the porch rail. "Hey!" I called, shoving open the screen door. What the heck was he doing? "Pony!"

I shouldn't have called out to him. He twitched, startled. Before I could get to him, he slipped and fell. I was too late, I couldn't catch him. I jumped the four steps and dropped to his side. "Pony!" I was alarmed at the glassy look of his eyes. "Can you get up?"

I was even more confused as he scrambled to his feet in a few jerky movements. And then I realized he was asleep. Most likely, he didn't hear "Pony, can you get up?" I had the distinct impression as he slurred, "Sir! Yes, sir!" that what he'd heard was, "Puny! Get up!"

A lump shot into my throat. I didn't know whether to try to wake him or not. You always heard people say you shouldn't wake someone up who's sleepwalking. I didn't know if that was right or wrong. I didn't remember anything else I might have heard or read, probably because I'd never needed to know anything else. Pony just stood there, swaying a little, waiting for something. An order? For me to scream something in his face, so close he could feel the heat of my breath and smell what I'd had for dinner? I thought he might start marching to the frantic beat of my heart in a minute if I didn't say something soon.

"At rest, Pony," I finally said after trying desperately to remember some of the jargon from his letters. My words were so soft I doubted he'd even register it. But he slumped a little, and his eyes drooped like they wanted to close. His breathing was deep and even, almost like he was snoring. Since it had worked, since he'd heard it, I tried again. "Rack time, Pony," I said, feeling like I needed to vomit. The feeling only increased when he nodded, his head wobbling.

"Yes, sir," he said softly, staggering back around the porch, up the steps, and into the house.

I wanted to check on him, but my legs wouldn't carry me after him. I sat down hard on the steps, shaking, my legs like jelly.

Jesus.

_Jesus Christ._

I put my head in my hands, scrubbed my hands through my hair. What the hell was wrong with him? What now?

I'd never needed Soda more in my life, and I had no idea where he was or how to find him. What was happening to my brother? What could I do to help? How could I get him to talk to me, to tell me what was going on? I'd needed answers for a long time now, and none ever came. If I could have one wish it would be for an instruction book, something to tell me how to catch the next curve life threw at me. It wasn't right. No one should have to live like this, scared all the damn time. Facing a wall you can't seem to get around. With Pony, the wall was infinitely high and impossibly wide. I couldn't climb over, walk around, or dig under. And though sometimes it felt like I was pounding with all my might, I couldn't break through.

* * *

Darry jumped like a scalded cat when I crept in the door. He'd been asleep, I think, but he was wide awake now, searching the room frantically, wide-eyed. It looked so funny I laughed, but then I noticed how tight his jaw was, how white his skin, and the laughter died in my throat.

"Darry?" I could only stand where I was and watch him round the arm of the chair and hit our bedroom doorway in two strides. "Darry, what's the matter?" I asked, following.

Ponyboy was facedown on his bed, snoring a little. I felt like I'd missed something big, but I couldn't imagine what. Darry watched him intently for a few seconds, and then he grabbed my shoulder and pushed me toward the kitchen. I'd never seen him so strange.

It took him a couple minutes to even say anything at all. I'd been sweating like crazy all night. There was a heat wave on. But the moisture felt icy all of a sudden. He scared me like crazy. It wasn't Pony, he was sleeping just fine. So, what?

"Darry," I said, about ready to shake it out of him. He was really starting to spook me.

He shook his head. "Soda, I don't know what to do…"

The words tumbled all over themselves. Pony talked that way sometimes, if he got worked up, but never Darry. Darry was cool to the point of being cold. I was so startled by the frantic way he talked that I almost didn't register what he was saying. Pony up on the porch rail? I'd never seen Darry lose his cool like that…not that bad, anyway. Darry was the glue that held us all together.

My head started to spin as I listened to him unravel, starting with now, with Pony sleepwalking, and working his way back to camp and to the tornado out at old man Wilson's barn, back to Pony dropping flat out in the street the night Dally died, just back and back until he sort of choked.

I froze, horrified. He choked. I can't even say it, it's so unreal. But he choked, and then my big, strong, impossibly solid brother...I hadn't seen him like this since I didn't know when. Maybe never.

He sobbed.


	9. Chapter 9

"Darry…" I scooted my chair right up next to his. He was trying to rein it in, all that emotion that he'd probably been stuffing down for the last two years, and his broad back heaved from the effort. "Darry," I said softly, flinging an arm around his shoulders now that I was no longer paralyzed from the shock of it, "Hey, Darry…hey…"

He quaked something fierce and lifted his head. "It scared me, Soda," he said in a voice that made me think of someone trying to plug a leak in a dam with their thumb.

"I know," I said, rubbing his shoulder, "me, too. But we'll figure this out," I promised, though I wondered how I was gonna keep that promise. "You and me and Pony, we'll figure it out together…"

He was still shaking a little, but I was relieved as all get out that he seemed to be calming down some. If you ever want to know what terrified is, just watch your big brother, your hero, fall apart on you. Seems the fear was going around. Pony scared Darry, Darry scared me…was I gonna lose it next?

"We're going to have to start locking the door," Darry said suddenly, after we'd been just sitting like that for a minute or two.

He was right. We couldn't watch Pony every second, and if he went sleepwalking again, he could end up on the roof or in the street. It reminded me of all the cartoons, with some colorful character stumbling around, arms straight out. But in the cartoons they always just managed to avoid disaster. This wasn't a cartoon, though, and I figured that meant you could get hit by a car or fall off a roof with none of the slapstick to help you.

"Just until we figure this out," I agreed. "We can tell the guys," I shrugged. "We can hide a key somewhere outside."

He nodded, all cool efficiency again. I gave his shoulders a final squeeze and slapped his back. He was already on his feet heading over to lock the door by the time I stood up and let out the huge yawn I'd been trying to hold back.

Darry went on to bed, though I doubted either one of us would find sleep easily. I kicked out of my jeans and tugged my shirt off and left them to fall wherever. I'd pick them up in the morning.

_It scared me, Soda._

Lordy. If finding Ponyboy in the bathroom with a toilet brush at three a.m. wasn't scary enough…I tried to imagine just how I'd feel seeing him climb on the porch rail. Darry said he figured Ponyboy was probably pulling that fire watch Miller told us about. I'm sure glad he didn't make it up onto the roof before Darry scared him or he could have really been hurt. It's lucky he wasn't hurt from just falling from the porch rail four steps up over the crawlspace. He could've broken an arm or something, and then how would he walk around? You can't use crutches with a broken arm. And Darry…if he was this upset and Ponyboy didn't even get hurt, well, I hate to think what would have happened if Pony _had _gotten hurt.

_Tomorrow, _I thought, yawning. We'll figure this out tomorrow….

* * *

I was facing the window with the sun in my eyes. The clock said it was fifteen after six. Soda should have been getting up for work about now, but a quick peek behind the clock told me he'd forgotten to set the alarm. He was snoring a little, flopped on his stomach the way he likes to sleep most. I could hear the water running which meant Darry was in the shower. That meant he was also running late, because he's usually in the kitchen fixing breakfast by now. I wondered how it was they both slept late.

I started breakfast since Darry was already running behind. You need a good meal if you're gonna crawl around on roofs all day. After I poured the scrambled egg batter into the skillet, I realized I didn't have my crutches. If Darry saw me without them, I'd catch it for sure, so I started back toward my room to get them. As I left the kitchen, I could see someone standing outside our front door and heard a soft rattling. Then the rattle changed to a bang and Two-Bit's indignant voice called out,

"Since when do y'all lock your door?!"

Lock our door?

Puzzled, I made my way to the door. Sure enough, someone had turned the deadbolt. Why the heck would anybody do that? I wondered if Soda had one of his rare fights with Steve and maybe locked it out of spite. Soda can get sort of childish in arguments, even if they don't last long.

I swung open the door, and Two-Bit frowned at me. But I guess he wasn't really mad at me anymore because then he just grinned and asked,

"What's cookin'?"

I ignored his question to ask one of my own. "What're you doing up so early?"

He shrugged. "The presses jammed up late last night. They tried to call me then, but we were at the movies. They want it fixed right away so the Nickel can go out tomorrow."

He was referring to his father's small classifieds paper, _The Buffalo Nickel_. It came out each week on Tuesdays, full of job ads, cars for sale, tag sale notices, and so forth. If you could name it, someone was trying to sell it, and they all tried to sell it in the Nickel. There isn't a person in Tulsa who hasn't read it, answered an ad, or placed one.

I shook my head and grinned. "Never figured you for the dependable type," I teased.

"Me neither," he nodded, "but I found out I like having money."

I didn't argue that he always had money before he ever took a job. His mom had been bugging him to finish school and get a job for a long time now, and he'd finally done both in the last four months.

"Where's Sodapop and Superman?"

"Bed and shower," I answered, kicking the half-formed clumps of eggs around with the spatula.

"Don't Soda have to work today?"

"Think so," I agreed, handing him the spatula. "Make sure they don't burn."

I still had to get my crutches, anyway, so I ducked back into our room. Soda was facing the window now, his pillow over his head to block out the sun.

"Hey, Soda," I said loudly, poking him in the back. He wriggled away from my finger. I went back to his bed with my crutches and poked him with the tip of one. He lifted his head, his eyes tightly shut against the impossible brightness of the room. "Get up," I said. "Work!"

He sighed and buried his head under the pillow again. I gave him another poke. He lifted the pillow and rasped, "Buck's making me work all weekend, so he gave me the day off…" He dropped the pillow again.

I laughed and pulled the door shut behind me. He must have been out really late with Steve. I didn't even hear him come in last night.

Two-Bit was just dumping the eggs onto plates. Luckily, I stopped him from filling a fourth. I popped some bread in the toaster and was just putting three glasses on the table when Darry clomped into the kitchen. He gave me one of his long looks again.

"Forget your alarm?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said sheepishly, ducking into the fridge for the milk and the orange juice.

Running late the way he was, Darry didn't have time to do more than eat, but from the way he kept glancing at me as he forked his eggs and crunched his toast, I think he wanted to. Two-Bit read the funnies, oblivious to both of us until Darry said if he kept coming over to eat breakfast so often, he was gonna have to charge him. Two-Bit just smirked and fished around in his pocket for a minute before slapping sixty-five cents down on the table. Darry rolled his eyes at that, but I saw the corners of his mouth hitch up. Then he gulped the rest of his juice and took his plate and glass to the sink.

Grabbing his keys off the edge of the counter, Darry pointed at me sternly. "Stay off the knee."

I nodded, biting back a "yes, sir". It didn't fool him. He sighed and turned to point at Two-Bit.

"Are you blocking my truck again?"

Two-Bit looked up at him and shook his head, but then he got a funny look on his face and jumped up, forking in the last bite of eggs and grabbing the corner of toast left on his plate. "Yeah," he said, patting his pocket for his keys.

I finished my breakfast and was halfway through with the dishes before it occurred to me that I hadn't heard Two-Bit's car start until after I heard the familiar rumble of Darry's truck fading down the street.

* * *

By mid-morning, I'd done as much of the crossword puzzle as I could from three days worth of newspapers, read all the comics, the advice columns, and even a little bit about the race riots that had been happening all over. Boston. Buffalo. Newark. Three game shows droned by in the background.

Soda woke up just after nine, and he blinked at me before shuffling down the hall to the bathroom.

I was trying to sketch the Stovepipe when I felt the weight of him on the couch by my feet. Great. Now _he_ was watching me, and his look was just as loaded as any of Darry's had been.

"What?" I asked.

He looked troubled, but he shrugged. "Nothing," he said, slapping my left knee, which was bent, holding up my sketch pad. I went back to my drawing. I couldn't get it quite right, which annoyed me because I'd looked at it every day for almost a month. I'd seen it from almost every angle, watched the sun play off its rugged slopes and mesas. It was important, somehow, that I get it just right. But I couldn't.

I heard him clinking around in the kitchen, and then he sank down beside me again. "You shouldn't eat in here," I said. "You know Darry doesn't like it." It was true. We never got to eat anyplace but the kitchen (or in our beds, if we were sick) when Mom was still alive. For some reason, Darry kept that rule for the most part.

Soda didn't answer right away. "I'll be careful," he said.

Something was bugging him. I wondered again if he'd had a fight with Steve. He always got sort of mopey when the two of them were fighting. When I couldn't stand his silence anymore, I murmured,

"So, what did you and Steve fight about?"

When he didn't answer, I peeked over he edge of my sketch pad at him. He looked surprised.

"We didn't," he replied before gulping down the entire glass of milk he'd poured.

"So how come the door was locked?"

He turned white. I felt myself go white just looking at him.

"What? Soda?"

He sighed. "Ponyboy, you don't remember?"

I watched him, hoping something in his anxious face would give me a clue. But he just watched me, waiting for an answer. "Remember what?"

"Sleepwalking," he answered slowly.

"Oh," I said. "That." I shrugged. "It was just the one time. What's the big deal?"

"Not the bathroom," he shook his head. "Last night. The porch."

Now I was really confused. What the hell was he talking about? "The porch," I repeated blankly. What did that have to do with locking the door?

Soda told me about coming home and Darry leaping out of the chair like his pants were on fire. He told me what Darry had told him and how Darry was going crazy worrying about me. How they'd decided to lock the door at night in case I did it again.

"Thing is, Pony," he continued, turning toward me, "if something's wrong, if you're scared or upset, you–"

"I'm not," I shook my head. "Honest. I'd tell you if I was. You know I would."

He nodded, but he didn't look any less worried. "You can talk to Darry, too, you know. He's scared you're keeping something from him. From us," Soda corrected. "Did something else happen at camp that you haven't told us?"

Lots of things had happened at camp, and I hadn't told them about a lot of them. But they knew the worst stuff, so I didn't see how that would make any difference. I knew it bothered Darry when I "yessired" him, but I wasn't afraid or anything when I did it. At least I didn't remember being afraid when it happened. I didn't remember thinking anything at all in particular. It just slipped out. Reflex, like the doctor whacking you in the knee with the hammer so you kicked out.

All I could do was shake my head at him. "No, Soda. Nothing else happened."

I didn't know why I was sleepwalking. It had been a little scary the first time, sure, but that was mostly because I could see how it spooked Soda. It was hard to be afraid over something I didn't even remember, though. It was hard to even understand why Darry and Soda were so freaked out by it, seeing as how I didn't recall it even vaguely. It sounded like someone else's story, like watching a movie or reading it in a book.

I promised Soda I'd tell him if anything bugged me, but for the first time in my life, I don't think he believed me.


	10. Chapter 10

Four days later, I was sick to death of being at home. Books held no interest, there was nothing on TV that I wanted to watch, and I'd filled my sketch pad with attempt after attempt to draw the Stovepipe and still wasn't happy with the results. I lived for company, even Steve. We played a lot of cards but now I was sick of them, too.

With Darry and Soda both working, I parked my crutches against the sofa in the living room and left them there unless anybody was around. My knee was getting better every day. I still had a limp, but it got less and less pronounced. They didn't seem to notice that the house was staying clean, though I figured it wouldn't be much longer before Darry got to wondering why dust wasn't piling up anywhere yet. The only thing I couldn't do is make the beds, because that would be obvious. We never made our beds unless the social worker was due. Why bother? You just mess them up again every night to go to sleep.

Even in broad daylight, Darry wanted the door locked. He said I could just as easily doze off and start wandering around when nobody was home. I didn't really think it would happen, but I knew he wasn't going to budge. Besides, all the guys knew the key was just sitting up on the lip of the jamb.

So far, I guess it was working, though every morning Soda whispered my latest adventure. I'd been found in the kitchen scrubbing potatoes (KP), mopping the kitchen floor (barracks clean up?), and last night I started pulling the sheets off my bed for laundry detail. If you want to know the truth, I thought it was sort of funny. I tried to picture myself, zombie-like, wandering all over the house doing chores. But Darry and Soda were still awful spooked, so I felt guilty every morning when Soda told me about my latest adventure. I wanted to stop so they'd feel better, and it was sort of frustrating that I couldn't if I wanted to.

It was Friday, and I hoped that I would be able to convince Darry to let me go out. I didn't care where. Anywhere. Just out. The most I'd been able to do is go out to the curb for the mail. I only had a dollar to my name, but I didn't have to do anything that cost money. Darry was always too tired after work to go anyplace, and we didn't have any money, anyway. Soda was working the evening shift tonight. Steve…well, we didn't tolerate each other well enough to hang around when Soda wasn't there. Maybe I could sweet talk Two-Bit into doing something with me. As long as it wasn't the movies, he'd probably be okay with it.

I was just trying to get interested in the second L'Amour book, just like I'd been trying to do every day for the past four days, when I heard Darry's truck pull up outside. Since it was only a few minutes after three, my heart started hammering in my chest. Was work slowing down? That was the last thing we needed.

He clomped up the steps, forgot about the door, and smacked into it when he twisted the knob and it didn't open. From the way the key sounded jamming into the lock, he was annoyed. "Ponyboy," he said, "Get your shoes on. I made an appointment with Dr. Joseph."

"What for?" I asked, getting up from the couch. I was so excited to be leaving the house I almost forgot to grab the crutches.

"What do you think?" he retorted as he ducked into the bathroom to clean up a little.

I put my shoes on and smelled my shirt. I figured I'd better change it just in case. The heat wave had kept up, and I'd been sweating all morning even sitting still. Darry was pretty angry when he saw the last electric bill. Soda always turns the cooler down and the table fan on high, and this time he went too far with it.

"Pony!" Darry called as I ducked into the shirt. He was impatient. He'd probably waited until the last second to leave the site to keep Murphy from climbing all over his back.

I left the house behind him, and since he was hurrying to the truck with his back to me, I skipped the crutches until he was in a position to see me. I'm surprised he didn't wait to put them in the bed for me so I wouldn't have to take that extra step to get into the truck.

"Darry, do you think Dr. Joseph will be able to help?" I wondered as he backed out of the drive so fast he could've been Soda.

"I don't know," he said flatly. "The last guy didn't do much for your nightmares. No sense in going back to him."

"I like Dr. Joseph better than the last guy," I said, remembering how he talked more like Two-Bit than a doctor. He always had something funny to say even though he said all the important stuff. And he didn't look at us like we were greasers. He looked at us like we were just regular guys.

"I do, too," he agreed absently. I gave up talking to him. He was a million miles away.

I knew he was hanging some serious hope on this visit, though, because Dr. Joseph's receptionist asked Darry to go on back first, and she told me I could stay out front for a little longer. I guess Darry wanted to tell Dr. Joseph what had been going on with the sleepwalking. I think he knew it didn't bother me and he didn't want that to be the first impression Dr. Joseph got.

I wondered if Dr. Joseph would start looking at me like Darry and Soda had been. I hoped not. It was starting to make me feel about four years old. But it was more than just making me feel like a kid. It made me feel defective somehow. Ruined. That doesn't make a guy feel too hot, especially coming from his brothers. I'd just started getting them to understand I wasn't just some goofy, crazy little kid, and it seemed like this sleepwalking stuff was going to ruin all the growing up I'd done in their eyes. And if that happened, forget working or driving or dating girls. They'd be too busy locking doors and watching my every move to make sure I didn't self-destruct.

I really, really hoped that Dr. Joseph would talk some sense into Darry.

* * *

"How've you been?" Dr. Joseph asked over his shoulder as he walked us to the last of the three exam rooms. The other doors were closed, with little colored tags hanging on the doorknobs. I wondered what they meant.

"Well," I shrugged, "I wouldn't be here if things were going great."

He nodded, closing the door behind me. "You wanted to talk about Ponyboy," he said, sitting on a rolling stool. He gestured to a hard plastic chair in the corner.

"Yeah," I nodded. "He had some trouble at camp." I explained as quickly as I could about the situation, about his disappearance and what had happened to him there. By the time I finished, Dr. Joseph was listening intently, scrawling all over a yellow legal pad in what looked like shorthand.

"You mentioned that he's been sleepwalking since he's been home," Dr. Joseph nodded again. "Tell me about that."

He seemed fascinated rather than afraid. And he didn't seem to be all that concerned, either. That alone made me feel like I'd made the right decision in coming to him rather than a head doctor. I thought maybe he knew what was wrong and how to fix it. When I wound down, admitting that my fear was probably only making things worse, he just looked at me for a long time.

"Okay," he said after a moment's silence, "here's the thing, Darrel. I'm not a psychologist or a psychiatrist, but I do know a little bit about sleepwalking. I've got to ask, though…did Ponyboy ever sleepwalk as a little kid? Say, before age twelve?"

"A few times," I admitted, "when he was really little. Maybe two or three. That's what our parents said, anyway, you know, when they used to tell us funny stories." I didn't add that I didn't think his sleepwalking was funny now.

"Typically, sleepwalking affects children and tends to fade away around age twelve or thirteen. It's unusual in adults in the absence of mental disorders. But before you panic, Ponyboy isn't an adult yet, and one of the primary triggers seems to be anxiety. Given his life lately, I'd say he has every reason to be a little jumpy."

I nodded. "Sure."

"If you're locking the doors, you've won half the battle. I'll tell you what I think. I think Ponyboy became accustomed in a very short period of time to a lot of rough conditioning. We humans are pretty brainy folks," he said, leaning toward me. "We learn really, really quickly to do anything that avoids hassles and pain and other crappy stuff. It's a bonus if we can also learn whatever will bring us something really good. Ponyboy learned that unless he behaved in a certain way, he was going to get singled out, yelled at, roughed up and kicked around. So he did whatever it took to avoid that. Smart kid. Meanwhile, he got used to being worked to the bone every day from sun up to sun down. No big surprise he doesn't know how to sit still anymore, even in his sleep."

"Do you think it will just be a matter of time before the sleepwalking stops?" I asked, half hoping that he did and half hoping that he didn't. I wanted a quicker fix than that. I wanted my baby brother back to his usual self…even if that meant he'd be a little scatterbrained and dreamy.

"Yes and no. I think he's working through something here. With everything that's been thrown at him lately, he's like the Department of Motor Vehicles…all backed up, lines a mile long, hungry, sweaty, grumpy, tired, bored, frustrated, angry, nervous…you name it, he's probably feeling it." Dr. Joseph shrugged.

I laughed for the first time in what felt like years. The knot in the back of my neck finally loosened.

"I do think you need to give him a little time and not sweat the 'yessir' stuff so much. And I think you may be partly right about your anxiety feeding his anxiety. I know asking you to act like everything is groovy is like asking for a new roof in two hours, but Ponyboy needs to know you think he's okay."

"Okay," I sighed. This time, Dr. Joseph laughed.

"Keep the doors locked, and be sure to wake him up if you catch him at it. All those things you hear about it being dangerous to wake sleepwalkers is bunk. He might look at you like you're from Mars, and he might talk like he's from Pluto, but you won't scare him to death." He pulled a prescription pad from his coat pocket. "And let's see if a mild sedative slows him down a bit. It's sort of hit or miss, but let's give it a try for a couple weeks. If it doesn't work by then, it's not going to."

"Thanks," I said, and he laughed again at the relief in my voice.

"Sure. Take it easy on yourself while you're at it. If you're not used to seeing people sleepwalk, it's probably a pretty spooky experience."

"You say that like you aren't one of those people."

He grinned at me. "My lovely wife has been afflicted since she was a wee little girl, and somehow, she's never grown out of it. Whenever I catch her at it, I just waltz her back to bed. Most of the time, she's none the wiser."

"Bet she's not climbing any porch rails, though," I said.

"True. But she nearly burnt the house down with her sleep baking, so I do know a little bit about the danger." He patted my back and walked me to the door. "Let me take a quick gander at your brother before you leave."

"Thanks, Dr. Joseph." I shook my head, trying to find words to express just how much better I felt.

"I know," he grinned again, winking at me. "You're welcome."

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

I was just starting to wish I'd brought the L'Amour book with me when Darry appeared. He looked…looser. Like his whole body had been wound up tight and was now unraveled.

"Dr. Joseph said to come on back, third door on the right," he told me, taking the last empty chair. At least it was the last one until I got up. I completely forgot to use the crutches, but this time, Darry didn't say anything at all.

Dr. Joseph had his head bent over a clipboard, but he peeked up to watch me come in. I knew he was noticing my limp, but he didn't say anything about it. He pointed at the exam table, busily scrawling on what was probably my medical chart. "Up," he said.

It took him another minute to finish writing, but then he tipped his head up at me again. He always looked sort of mildly intrigued, even the first time I met him. But it didn't bother me or anything. Seems like you'd have to want to know the patient's story to be a good doctor.

"So, your brother tells me camp was lousy."

I shrugged. "Most of it," I agreed. I didn't really want to talk about camp, and besides, I figured Darry had already given him the rundown.

"How's the knee?" He rose and kicked the stool into the corner. I grinned at that. It was something Two-Bit would have done. At least he would have after spinning in circles for about five minutes.

"It's getting better. I don't really need the crutches anymore, but Darry gets mad if I don't use them," I said. He asked me to take my jeans off so he could have a look. He left the room for a couple of minutes, and I heard him laugh next door, probably dealing with another patient. When he came back , he asked,

"Where were we?"

"Umm…Darry gets mad if I don't use my crutches?" I offered.

"Right," he agreed. "Bet that yanks your chain," he observed, unwrapping my knee. I nodded.

He poked around, pressing his fingers on either side of my knee cap, which hurt a little, but it was nothing like when Tustin did it the night it happened. "Looks like there was some bruising, but it's so faint now it's hard to tell."

"There was," I agreed.

"So, your kneecap and the rest of your leg had a disagreement on which direction they should go," he surmised. I laughed. He was a real funny guy.

"Yeah."

"Any popping in the knee since you've been walking on it?"

"No," I shook my head.

"Does it ever lock up on you, refuse to bend when you ask it to?"

"Uh uh."

"Hurt worse when you first get up in the morning?"

"Yeah."

"Good. All normal. You're boring the heck out of me with all this normal," he joked. "Let's look at the rest of you, get it out of the way before school starts."

So he poked around in my ears and nose, stuck a tongue depressor in my mouth and shined a light at the back of my throat, all the usual exam stuff. He only whacked my left knee, though, with the hammer. He checked my eyes, listened to me breathe, and listened to my heart.

"Sleeping okay?"

I frowned. "I know Darry told you I was sleepwalking," I said.

"Yeah, he did. But I wasn't asking about that. I know all about that." He took my pulse. "I meant, do you fall asleep pretty quick or does it take you a long time?"

I started to say I fell asleep pretty quick, but that wasn't entirely true. "Sometimes I do, and sometimes I don't. Sometimes I'm really tired but once I get in bed, I can't shut off my head."

"Typical," he said. "Do you wake up in the middle of the night? That you're aware of?"

"Sometimes," I said. "To pee."

He chuckled. "Do you fall asleep quickly after that, or do you start thinking again?"

"No. Mostly I fall right back asleep." I wondered what he was looking for and whether he'd found it.

"Follow my finger with your eyes, but keep your head still," he said, and proceeded to move his finger up and down and side to side and then he put it on my nose so I went cross-eyed. I laughed, figuring I probably looked pretty goofy. "So, do you remember sleepwalking?"

"No," I shook my head. "The first time, when Soda woke me up, I was really confused. I didn't know why I was holding the toilet brush. But the rest of the times I only know because Soda told me."

"Darrel tells me that first time, you thought you were at camp, scrubbing the bathrooms there. He's guessing you're always at camp when you sleepwalk. Do you think he might be right?"

I shrugged. "I guess so," I said. "I mean, why else would I climb up on the porch rail like that?"

Dr. Joseph just looked at me for a moment. "Ponyboy, when I asked you if camp was lousy, you said, 'Most of it.' That tells me that maybe you liked some parts. Tell me about those."

Suddenly, the words wouldn't come. How could I explain something like this? It was like I found aspects of most things that I could like, even if I hated all of the rest. "We'd go out in this field," I began, and then I stopped. What was going to sound good about running in full gear, ducking behind hay bales as guys threw sand pucks at you hard enough to make your ears ring when they got you in the head? Of course, they only got me in the head once. They didn't hit me anywhere at all very often, actually. I left a lot more red chalk behind than I ended up wearing. Still, I tried to explain it. Running tacticals was the only time Kent couldn't interfere. If he shouted at us, if he got in our faces, he'd give away our position and ruin the nature of the exercise. We were each of us on our own, though Greg, Charlie, Paul, and Kurt would team up against Wade and I, trying to knock us out of the game. If you got hit you had to leave the field until one guy was left unhit. Much to their dismay, a lot of the time, that guy was me. Anyway, it didn't matter who won. What mattered was, for a brief time, we were free.

I'd also started to notice new muscles underneath all the sore places, and I felt a strange sort of power I couldn't explain. Coiled and waiting, ready for anything. Or mostly anything. I started to imagine coming home and wondered if Darry and Soda would notice it, if it was real or if I was just wishful thinking. But it had to be real. I felt it in the way I could run for what felt like forever and never lose my breath. I could swim football after football, except when my shoulder was hurt that time.

I didn't mind working hard, I just didn't like catching heat from every direction. I liked learning first aid, communications, jeep maintenance, and all the rest of the stuff, but I didn't like Kent standing over my shoulder screaming at me to hurry or to tighten it up. I didn't like watching my back every second, never being able to relax. I didn't mind being away from home, not exactly, but I missed Darry and Soda and the guys something fierce, especially the more things went wrong.

Wade and Miller were small consolations. Kurt, too, eventually. If it hadn't been for Kent, Greg, and Charlie, it probably would have been a pretty tuff summer.

Dr. Joseph nodded earnestly, and I was embarrassed to realize that once I spit out the first few words, I couldn't stop. I felt my ears start to burn, and I looked at my feet to avoid his gaze. I wasn't too sure what I'd see in it if I looked.

"So," Dr. Joseph said, "Camp was pretty cool, then. It's just the people that were lousy."

I blinked. I hadn't thought of it that way. "Well, except for the last part," I admitted. I was still scared to admit it. If I'd said that in front of Darry and Soda, not even Dr. Joseph could convince them I wasn't nuts.

"Sure," he grinned. "That would rattle the best of guys." He stepped back toward the counter. "Listen, hop down from the table and walk around without the bandage on."

I did as he asked. It made my limp a little worse, but it wasn't too bad. He had me walk toward him and away from him in the exam room, and he had me lift my knee as high up to my chest as I could without touching it. The deeper the bend, though, the more pain there was in my kneecap and down into my shin. I winced.

"Okay, kid, let's not overdo it. Go ahead and rewrap the knee and put your jeans back on. I'll go check on my actual sick people, since you're no fun at all for me there, and I'll be back in a second."

I hid a smile as he walked out of the room. Come to think of it, I felt a lot looser, too.

I thought we were pretty well finished, but when Dr. Joseph came back in, he put the clipboard down on the counter and pulled the stool from the corner, gesturing to the other chair in the room.

"Alright, Ponyboy, here's the skinny," he began, leaning toward me conspiratorially. "Darry and Soda seem like pretty tough guys to the rest of the world, but they've got a real soft spot for you. Brothers and even sisters can be funny that way."

I bit back a laugh.

"Anyway, Darry's got it in his head that people aren't supposed to run around in their sleep and he's really spooked about it, but you know, it's not such a big deal. My wife's been doing it all her life, and she's just fine. Healthier than I am, probably. But he's got a lot to worry about besides what you're up to in the middle of the night when he's trying to sleep, so I need you to do me a favor and take a pill each night before you go to bed. I'm not sure it will help, because sometimes it does and sometimes it doesn't. Humor me, though, and give it a go."

I nodded. "Okay."

"Groovy," he replied, grinning at me. "You know what else I think?"

"What?"  
"I think if you took some time to explain to those guys that camp wasn't all bad, they might relax a little more. Right now they've got this picture of the place in their heads that's got them really freaked out. Don't gloss over the parts that were awful, but don't muddy up the parts that weren't. You follow me?"

I nodded. I hadn't thought of it that way. I hadn't said much about it at all because by the time Kurt, Wade, and I marched into camp, they already seemed to know most of what happened. But Dr. Joseph was right. They probably only knew all the bad stuff, because that's all anybody talked about while they were there. And when I wrote home, that's all I really wrote about, too. I don't think I ever even mentioned tacticals, though we ran them almost every day.

"Kid, I think you're about as ready for school as you're ever going to be. Go easy on that knee for another week or two, but otherwise you're all set."

I sighed. "Do I still need the crutches?"

"Crutches? No. Just don't go jumping up and down on it for a while."

I grinned. "Can you tell Darry that?"

He grinned back at me. "Yeah, I can tell Darry that."

Dr. Joseph followed me out into the waiting area, and he handed the clipboard with my chart on it to his receptionist. Then he sort of raised his voice a little and said, "Ok, Ponyboy, stash those crutches in the closet or give them to somebody that really does need them. Don't go jumping any hurdles, though, for the time being."

That reminded me. "But I can run track in the spring, right?"

"Most likely, but let's run that race when we get there." He winked at me.

I nodded. Darry stood up and stretched a little, and then he slapped me on the back.

"Go on out to the truck while I take care of the bill," he said.

"See you next time, kid," Dr. Joseph gave me a little wave.

Yeah. I sure did feel looser. And judging from the way Darry grinned as he went up to the desk, I'd say he felt a lot better, too.


	12. Chapter 12

I guess since it was Friday, and Darry was feeling so relieved, he suggested we stop in at the DX to say hey to Soda since he'd be stuck there another couple hours. I figured Darry wanted to play some pool at the Ace. I also figured he wanted to talk to Soda. That sorta made me mad. Something about them putting their heads together and discussing me like they would a car repair didn't make me feel too hot. Anyway, other than that I didn't mind going. Buck lets me come into the bar during the day as long as I'm with somebody over eighteen, but once it hits nine I have to leave regardless. I can hang out in the garage, just not the Ace.

Darry swung into the DX just as Soda was tucking a tip into his front pocket. He had a goofy grin on his face chatting up some pretty, Socy sort of girl. He has a thing for blondes, and this one had hair the color of butter. He didn't even see us, he was so fixated on her. He leaned on the gas pump in that way he has, like he's posing to have his picture taken or something. And the girls fall for it all the time. Darry let out a soft chuckle.

"Look at him," he said to me, thoroughly amused in a way he doesn't get too often. "Bet he'll be tucking her phone number in his pocket next."

We watched and waited, Darry purposely not pulling up to the pump yet so it wouldn't alert Soda with its cheery _ding, ding!_ I'm surprised Soda couldn't tell just by the sound of the engine. I know the sound of Darry's truck anywhere, and over the years I've been alternately afraid of and relieved by it. But no, Soda just rocked a little bit, still with that 100-watt grin he's so famous for, and he nodded his head at something she said. I flung out my hand and slapped Darry's shoulder with it as he accepted a little piece of white paper from her and tucked that in his pocket, too. We looked at each other and laughed.

Darry was still chuckling as she started to pull away, Soda watching her go until the truck rolled up far enough to sound the bell. He caught sight of us laughing at him and his grin only widened.

"Hey, y'all," he greeted, already twisting off the gas cap. "Did you get a look at that girl?"

"Hard not to," Darry said. Then he looked at me. "Want a Pepsi?"

I figured he wanted to talk to Soda about the doctor visit. Why he had to act like it was a big secret, like I didn't know I'd been the big topic of conversation, was beyond me. But I did want a Pepsi, so I took the change he offered me and headed off toward the garage to get one.

Steve was under a Chevy, with just his shoes and a bit of his legs showing. I guess he thought I was Soda because he said, "Hand me that three-quarter socket, will ya?" It took me a second to find the right one because they were old and the sizes were almost worn off. "Thanks," he said. "You got her number didn't you? I swear, Soda, you ain't careful you're gonna—"

All of a sudden, he rolled out and looked at me. Maybe it was my shoes or something.

"Ponyboy," he said. I waited for him to say something else, but he didn't. He just shoved himself back under the car. I rolled my eyes and started back to the truck. Darry was standing beside Soda at the pump. I went farther back in the garage again. Figures I'd be stuck with Steve. I guess he knew I was still there because he asked for another wrench and muttered a thanks when I passed it to him.

Finally Darry and Soda finished talking, and Darry pulled the truck around to the side of the garage and parked it. Soda slapped me on the shoulder and said, "He's going inside to play pool." Soda handed me all of the change in his pocket. He knows I like the pinball machine better. I'm sort of lousy at pool.

It was dark and smelled like smoke and stale liquor, just like it always did. Buck was sitting at the bar, flipping channels on the little TV mounted high up on the wall. He settled on the five o'clock news. I barely gave it a glance until I swore I heard the words "Adderson Metalworks".

I hadn't quite gotten any change into the pinball machine yet, so I rushed up to the bar. "Buck! Turn that up!"

He gave me a look, wondering what was so important, but he fished out the little remote control and the volume rose just enough for me to catch the story.

"….numerous complaints from pensioners not receiving their monthly checks or receiving them up to three weeks late. Company president and owner Gerald Adderson responds…"

And there he was, the politician himself, with a practiced grim look and deep concern in his voice. His little speech seemed so heartfelt as he blamed the errors on a new filing and bookkeeping system. "We're very concerned for our loyal employees and retirees and are working very hard to correct this problem. These folks are like family, and the fact that they're out there missing these funds that so many of us count on, well, I'm deeply saddened by and very sorry for this inconvenience…"

_No you ain't, _I thought. _This inconvenience probably paid for that new Ford Thunderbird you've been driving all over town._

So I guess Randy didn't have to say a word for the Adderson empire to begin its slow crumble. I wondered if Randy was getting drunk someplace. I hoped not. The news caster said an auditing firm had been brought in, whatever that meant. But I figured it wasn't good.

Darry, nursing a beer, sidled up to me and asked, "What's so interesting about the metalworks scandal?"

I looked up at him, surprised. "How did you know about it?"

"Pony, it's been all over the news since yesterday. They're saying Adderson's robbing the pension fund."  
"How did anyone find out?" My heart started hammering in my chest. For reasons I couldn't explain, I hoped Randy hadn't set it off.

Darry shrugged. "Just like the reporter said…people stopped getting their checks."

I put my chin in my hand. Randy had it pegged all along. All those people…some of them depending on that money just to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads…all of them were in for a very nasty surprise.

"Those poor folks," Darry shook his head, turning back to the pool table. "I'd hate to be in their shoes right now." As if his own were any better. But I knew what he meant.

Buck nodded. "Everyone's been saying that there'll be layoffs and plant closings to boot. So now you've got pissed off retirees _and _soon-to-be former employees. I know at least a dozen guys who'd like to see Adderson strung up and quartered right about now, and take my word, these aren't guys you want to run into in broad daylight let alone after dark."

Hearing that, Darry said, "You steer clear of Randy, Ponyboy. At least until this whole thing blows over."

I hadn't thought about that, about the fact that folks might target just anyone in the Adderson family. But it made sense. Like that time those guys from the power plant beat Soda up because Darry went to work there during the strike. They called him a scab, a traitor, and worse. And one night when Soda was alone they roughed him up pretty good, said any Curtis would do. A cold chill swept over me. I wondered if Randy had realized the same thing, and if he was being careful not to go anyplace alone.

I played a couple games of pinball while Darry shot pool with Buck. Daytime is kinda dead in the bar, though it officially opens at one in the afternoon. Soda wandered in during his break and sucked down the rest of my Pepsi, but he put change on the bar for another one.

"What's going on, Pony?" He wandered over and tried to rub my head, but I ducked. "Beat my high score yet?"  
"Almost," I said, elbowing him as his distraction worked and I hit the flipper too late.

"Too bad," he stuck his tongue out at me. I just smirked and elbowed him again. "Ow!" He over-exaggerated, grabbing me from behind with a mind to wrestle me to the floor.

"Sodapop," Buck said loudly without turning around, "if you want to act like a jackass, take it outside. This ain't a barn, kid, it's a bar."

"Ain't any worse than the fights I've seen in here on Saturday nights," Soda retorted. But he smirked and let me go though this time he managed to rub my head first. I rolled my eyes and went back to the pinball machine. Buck handed his cue stick over to Soda.

"Just don't let fifteen minutes become thirty," he added sternly.

"I won't," Soda promised.

With Soda playing, they finished the game quickly. I guess Darry figured he'd had enough. "C'mon, Pony, let's go home and start dinner." I scooped the change Soda gave me for that other Pepsi off of the bar.

"What're we having?" Soda asked, standing in the doorway that led out to the garage.

"Meatloaf," Darry said. Soda pulled a face. Darry bulks it up with crushed up crackers, bread crumbs and mashed up kidney beans. Soda hates it because we have leftovers for days, forcing him to eat meatloaf sandwiches, which he has to drown in ketchup. He doesn't hate it exactly, but he doesn't like it much, either. I love it, though. I'll eat it hot, cold, or anywhere in between.

"Steve!" Soda called out. "Want to come to dinner?"

Darry smirked. Next thing you know he'd be inviting Two-Bit and Tim. Anything to use up those leftovers quicker. I patted Soda's shoulder consolingly as we left.

"Don't worry, Soda, I'll be sure to eat a bunch of it so you don't have to."

He grinned and reached for my head again. It had become sort of a joke between us now. I just ducked and plunked the change into the Pepsi machine out front. I'd save the bottle for dinner, though. It would go great with some hot meatloaf and mashed potatoes.

* * *

By seven-thirty, when Soda got of off work, our house was boiling hot. I thought the heat wave was never going to break, and Darry's meatloaf and mashed potatoes made the kitchen a no man's land. I was sweating just sitting on the sofa. Of course, that didn't last long because Darry told me to set the table.

"How many?"

"Who the hell knows?" he muttered from the stove. But what he said loud enough for me to hear was "Just us for now. We can add to it later."

"Yessir," I said. And then I winced. Darry's back stiffened, but he didn't look at me and he didn't say a word. I tried to remember what Dr. Joseph had said. You can't stop a guy from worrying. Just don't draw any more attention to it than it already has. So I said nothing and Darry said nothing. I figured we'd both gotten similar lectures.

I moved to the hall, pulling the sweeper out of the closet. I'd vacuumed yesterday, but there was always a little more dirt to pick up. Social services was going to be calling any day, anyway. Tomorrow, I would have been home for a week. Huh. It didn't feel like that long.

I thought about camp. I wondered if even Dr. Joseph would think I was nuts if he knew I missed this part of the day, seven o'clock. At seven we were just beginning final drill, and after a long day, when your muscles were aching, it was sort of nice to stand out in the sunset and feel the heat of the day slip out of the air. Final drill was usually a bit slower and lighter than the rest of the day, sort of like a final stretch after a long run. Kent still barked, and it was still work, but you knew if you just hung in a bit longer, it would be over. A shower was just around the corner, and the possibility of a letter from home just a little further than that. If there was any hope in the day, it began to build around seven.

I stowed the sweeper and headed out onto the porch to watch the evening descend. It was cooler outside the house than in, anyway, what with Darry's cooking and the lights on and all. I thought again about Randy. I wondered if he was still drinking his way through the mess. I wondered if those lines he tried to re-draw the other night, the ones that kept him and Cherry on one side and me on another, were still in place in his mind. I didn't suppose I'd get to find out. Darry was dead serious about not wanting me anywhere near Randy Adderson, and I figured he was probably right. My heart got me into a lot of trouble when I listened to it instead of my head.

"Hey, Hemingway," Tim said, clomping up the porch steps. I hadn't even noticed him coming. He usually drove home from work and then walked here. I didn't know whether he just liked walking or whether he liked to prove he wasn't afraid to walk around at night, even alone.

"Hey," I said. "You come for dinner?"

"Not particularly," Tim shrugged, lighting a weed. It didn't make me itch like it had the other night with Randy. He didn't offer me any, though. He knew Darry liked me better off of it than on. "What's Muscles got going?"

"Meatloaf," I answered. Tim likes Darry's meatloaf, too, so I knew he'd end up sticking around, even though he'd pretend he didn't care either way.

"What are you doing out here? Staying out of the way?" He smirked. He knew what Darry was like.

"Nah," I said, leaning on the porch rail. "Just watching the sun go down."

Tim had gained a new appreciation for such things that last stint in jail. He just nodded. "Tuff enough," he agreed.

We stood there and watched the sun go down, neither of us talking, until Soda and Steve pulled in and broke the silence. When I looked over, Tim had disappeared and the screen door was just slapping shut behind him.

* * *

_**A/N: **__**I know it seems like not much is going on, but trust me, it'll build. Also, before you say anything about the TV remote in Buck's bar, I did my research. They did have them in the late 60s, though they looked a lot different than they do now. LOL**_


	13. Chapter 13

Soda managed to convince everybody to come for meatloaf. Every chair in the place was taken, and every last crumb of that meatloaf disappeared. Six guys eat twice as much as three, which Soda had been banking on when he invited Steve and Two-Bit. Tim was a lucky surprise for him.

"Hey," Tim said, straightening up after finessing a toothpick from the little dispenser in the center of our table, "I almost forgot why I came over here in the first place. I saw a flyer at the plant today. Bottler's Grudge is next Friday night over at Croswell Park."

Bottler's Grudge is an annual baseball game between the guys at Tulsa Bottling and the guys from Whittier Trucking. It all started with two cousins who were out drinking one night, each one with some of their work buddies in tow. I guess they were bragging about the good old days. Each one thought he was the best ball player, and then suddenly it was a challenge between the two companies. It'll be six years now, and as of last year it was the Bottlers, 3-2. But every time the tie gets broken the other team demands a rematch. Darry looks forward to it all year long, but you never know when it will be until suddenly the flyers appear all around town as if out of nowhere.

"Soda, will you be off in time?" Darry asked, walking his empty plate to the sink.

"Yeah. I'm only working until four."

"Game _starts_ at four, Soda," Tim shot back.

"Shoot!" Soda complained. "That means I'm gonna miss the first part."

"Don't worry, Soda," Steve patted his shoulder, "you know them games take hours. Everybody will still be there when you show up. I'll catch a ride with Two-Bit and leave you my car."

That cheered him right back up. Soda's not big on organized anything, but the Bottler's Grudge was different. It was a greaser event through and through, seeing as how the guys at Tulsa Bottling and the guys at Whittier Trucking were blue collar guys from mostly greaser neighborhoods. A few socs always showed up, but they were outnumbered and mostly stuck to the bleachers near third base, while Darry, Soda, and the rest of us tended to congregate near home base.

"Man," Darry shook his head as he came back to the table for the empty meatloaf pan. "I wonder—" He looked at me, wide-eyed.

"What?" I asked, my fork frozen in mid-air with the last of my meatloaf on it.

"I just remembered," he shook his head. "You've been home all this time, and I haven't even shown you the pictures yet!"

The dishes were forgotten temporarily as Darry went to his bedroom for the photos from his trip. I expected him to come back with an envelope, but when he came back he was hauling our thick family album. That same kid-at-Christmas spark was back in his eyes as he said,

"You can do the dishes in a minute. Come look at these."

I sat down beside him on the sofa, grinning at the sound of forks hitting plates and chairs scraping as the rest of the guys scrambled to join us. Even Tim sauntered out, but he sat down in Darry's chair and let Soda crowd in on the other side of Darry and Two-Bit and Steve took the arms on either end.

"Can't believe we forgot all about them," Soda shook his head. Nobody said the obvious, that I'd given them other things to think about since I'd been home.

"I can't believe you got them in the album that quick," I said as Darry opened to the middle to pictures of Mom and Dad. He flipped past them real quick and found the start of the trip pictures.

"Is that the hotel?" Steve asked, whistling low. "Classy."

"It was," Darry agreed. "Busch Stadium," he said next, "and me and Tim in front of Busch Stadium…"

There were dozens upon dozens of photos, and Darry hadn't discriminated. He'd put every single photo in that album. My favorite one of Darry was a shot of him on the pitcher's mound in his jeans and black t-shirt and a real jersey over it that one of the players had let him put on. He'd just released the ball, and his face was solemn, his eyes like ice but in a good way. He looked real tuff like that. For the first time, I felt a little tug and wished I'd been there to see it in person. But it passed quickly when I saw what would become my favorite picture of Tim: at bat, a fierce look on his face as the bat connected with the ball.

"In the morning before the game," Darry explained, "they brought me and Tim out to the field and let us warm up with the guys."

"Man, that's cool," Soda shook his head and laughed. "I can't believe you gave that up," he added, looking at me.

"I can't believe Tim knows how to smile for real," I joked. "Now I've got proof."

Tim smirked at me from Darry's armchair. "Don't go spreading that around, kid."

"No kidding," Two-Bit giggled. "That'd look real good to the River Kings, not to mention your own guys."

"What was that?" Tim asked coolly, gripping Two-Bit by the back of his neck.

"Easy there," Two-Bit cautioned. "That's breakable."

"I'm countin' on it," Tim replied, shoving Two-Bit so that he pitched forward off the arm of the couch and onto the floor. Tim took his place on the arm of the sofa. "Shoulda seen your brother, Hemingway. He struck out two Cardinals up there."

"Seriously?" Soda and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"If I'm lyin'," Tim said, crossing his heart and holding up his hand like he was about to stick it on a bible.

"Wow," I said, leaning over to bump Darry with my shoulder. He nudged me back, and for the first time since the last night of camp when Kent got a hold of me, he rubbed my head. He didn't seem intent on scrubbing the rest of my hair off like Soda and Two-Bit.

Darry and Tim kept on with stories from St. Louis, including a funny one about Tim trying to eat crab's legs without cracking them open first to get to the meat inside. Tim actually turned a little red, but his voice was cool as a cucumber as he said, "Well, hell, what do I know about all that socy food?"

Somehow a poker game got started. I wandered into the kitchen and cleared off the rest of the dishes and washed them. Then I took the album and flipped through the pictures a couple more times because I'm lousy at poker. Darry gave me the first of those sedative pills at about nine, and by the time they finished with the game, I was half-asleep on the sofa. I listened to the sounds of the guys leaving one by one. Steve's engine revved up, and Two-Bit's car made that funny squeal it always makes when he puts it into drive after it's been sitting cold for a while.

"C'mon, Pony," Soda said, nudging me with his knee. I heard the deadbolt engage on the front door. "Bed time…"

I barely kicked off my jeans and flopped down before I was fast asleep. I'd find out later that I'd stayed in bed the whole night. Or, if I hadn't, Darry and Soda were none the wiser.

* * *

By Wednesday, Darry and Soda were having mixed feelings about the success of the sedatives. Darry said they weren't working, but Soda said they were slowing me down some. I guess they helped a little because Friday and Saturday I didn't sleepwalk, least not that they could tell. Sunday night I guess I got up but I didn't get too far because I ran into the door jamb on my way out of our room. Soda woke up in time to see me back up and run into it again. He couldn't wake me up, though, so he steered me back to bed.

On Monday night I made it out of the bedroom but couldn't get the closet door open. Darry figures I was going to vacuum because Steve and Soda had had a cracker fight the night before. After Darry knocked their heads together he made them vacuum, but they did a half-assed job and by bedtime the rug was still a little crunchy under our feet. Tuesday I prepared breakfast at just after one in the morning, but I burned the toast. Darry unplugged the toaster and said he'd hide the knives if he could think of anyplace to put them. But he didn't give me any of his funny looks. He and Soda just kept trying to wake me like Dr. Joseph said to, but I never really came around. They just hauled me off to bed each time, and so far as anyone knew, I stayed there.

During the day, I used my freedom from the crutches to wander all over the place. I went up the DX to see Soda and have a Pepsi or two, and I took a swim in Dixon Pond even though Darry had told me to go to the city pool, instead. There were a couple people there one time, but no one I knew or who knew me. We minded our own business, but I didn't stay long because I go there to be alone and think about things.

On Tuesday, I took the bus to the east side of town and walked the two miles that the bus didn't cover to Crossleigh Stables. I worried that with the heat wave still refusing to budge I'd smell about like one of the horses. When Cherry caught sight of me coming down the little path that led to the exercise rings, a smile lit up her face. She had a huge Quarter horse by the reins, and it tossed its head impatiently.

"Hey, Ponyboy!"

"Hey, yourself," I grinned. She glanced down at my knee. I was still limping a little. Truth be known, I was thinking I might have stowed those crutches too soon. It was one thing to run around the house without them, but all the walking I'd been doing since then was making it hurt a little more than I'd bargained for. But it would have been impossible to come out to the stables with them, and I wanted to do something new, something other than read books, wander around the drugstore until Burt kicked me out, or bug Steve by going to the DX every day.

"You look different," she mused, her eyes wandering from my head to my toe like she was trying to figure out just how.

I shrugged. "Probably the fact that I don't have any hair."

"No," she said, "I noticed your hair the other night, remember? This is different since then."

I shook my head. "I don't know, then." I watched her scratch the horse's ear. "Two-Bit said you might welcome some help with the horses," I offered, falling into step with her as she started walking again.

"I think you'd better rest your knee," she answered. "You're limping worse than you were the other night at the movies."

I grinned sheepishly. "Well, not much worse."

"I wouldn't mind your company, though."

We went down to the last of three fenced areas, and I hopped up on the rail to watch as she mounted and walked, then trotted and loped. She really took her time with him, bringing him back to a trot and then to a walk. And she didn't dismount until the horse was breathing regularly again. I knew from previous experience that not many handlers were as thorough. Some of them cut corners with the pleasure horses, focusing their attention on racers only. Cherry gave each horse what it needed, regardless of its value to the stable.

As we walked back to the stalls, I caught sight of Randy leaning on our horse's stall door. I guessed he was waiting for Cherry. He looked up and seemed to freeze. "Hey, I guess I better go," I said warily, not sure how he was feeling after the other night. Plus, I knew Darry wouldn't want me to be anywhere near him just now, and I was inclined to agree.

"Don't go," she said, putting a hand on my arm. "Randy owes you an apology."

"That's ok," I said, shaking my head. Randy unfroze and was walking our way. She stopped and the Quarter horse tossed his head again.

"Ponyboy," she started to say, but her voice trailed off.

He looked as grim as he had the other night, but he didn't wobble when he walked so I figured he hadn't been drinking. "Hi, Ponyboy," he said flatly, falling into step with us for the last few feet to the stall. He didn't call me grease. Another good sign.

"Hey, Randy," I said evenly. I had no idea what else to say or not say. I kept my mouth shut.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" There was nothing in his face at all…not anger, not embarrassment, not apology.

I nodded. Cherry turned into the stall and told us to go on, she'd catch up. We turned back toward the exercise rings, since it was a long, straight walk and the area was fairly empty of people, unlike the stall area, which was busy with stable hands mucking stalls, feeding and watering, and brushing down horses.

"Look," he said finally, as we reached the first of the rings, "I just wanted to apologize for the other night."

"You don't have to," I said.

"Yeah," he said, "I do. I don't even really remember much about it, but Cherry says I was really a jerk. She's usually right about these things."

"It's ok," I replied. "You were…" I didn't finish the thought. He knew he was drunk. Why rub it in?

"Look," he said again, "I don't know what all I told you, but I'm sure you've seen the news."

"Did you tell?" I asked finally, after we'd walked past the exercise rings and were coming up around the back of an old equipment storage building. A couple of stable hands were back there smoking, and I didn't like the looks they gave us as we passed by. They fell into step behind us, but Randy didn't seem to notice.

"No," he was saying. "Turns out the IRS has been interested in things for a while."

"What's going to happen now?" As soon as I asked, I regretted asking because he just gave me a dull look that reminded me of the dull look Bob got when he was drunk. That expressionless-ness that could mean nothing at all or the worst trouble you'd ever had to stare down.

"Who knows?" He kicked at a pebble.

I wanted to ask if his dad was in trouble, if anyone had been laid off, and what was going to happen to the pensioners. But you don't ask a guy things like that unless you know him real well, and I didn't know Randy well enough to ask that sort of stuff.

"You ought to be careful," I said, remembering Buck's words at the bar. "I reckon a lot of people are pretty angry at your dad. Sometimes they don't care who it is they get even with."

He looked surprised. I suddenly wished I was anywhere but right there, watching his face as fear crept into his features. He didn't answer me. He just bent down, picked up a handful of pebbles, and started throwing them at the fence posts as we rounded the equipment building and made our way past the rings again, this time from the other side.

We headed back towards Cherry without another word to one another. I don't think he had considered that. I wondered if he thought I was threatening him or something.

The stable hands had stopped following us, but I still had a chill rippling through me. They were pretty big guys.

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry for the story alert you got! I was just fixing some issues pointed out to me by Halogurl10 (who rocks, by the way!) Chapter 14 will be up soon. Hopefully later today. Or, tonight, anyway._**


	14. Chapter 14

_Sure wish this heat wave would break. _This was my only thought as I descended the ladder for lunch break. I was wet and a little woozy from working in full sun for the last few hours. There was a line of guys at the cooler, taking forever to fill thermoses that earlier held their morning coffee. Now we all just wanted water. Cool, refreshing water. I was only two guys back when Murphy spotted me and called out,

"Curtis! C'mere for a minute!"

_You've got to be kidding me! _But when the boss calls, you answer. No matter that your tongue is stuck to the roof of your mouth and you think you might kill someone if you don't get a drink soon.

"Yessir?" I thought of Ponyboy as I said that, but it wasn't the time to be worrying about him.

"Curtis, there's a mix up on the delivery this week. We're short a few things. Lois has a list for you in the trailer. I need you to stop by Handy's and pick them up. She's got a P.O. for you to give to the clerk, and they'll just put it on our builder's credit line. Take your lunch while you're at it and be back by two." Finished with me, he turned and marched away with the city inspector.

In less than five minutes, I had two hours time on my hands. Murphy's secretary, Lois, was still typing up the purchase order when I stepped into the trailer, so I helped myself to what must have been about ten paper cones full of water. I still wasn't quenched, but she was ready with the P.O., so I took it and headed out to my truck. I wondered why Murphy had given me two hours for a half hour lunch and a half hour errand, but I wasn't about to argue.

Handy's Hardware was about a ten minute drive from the site we were currently working. The rush of air against my sweat-slicked body was about the closest to heaven as I was likely to get. A very light breeze had kicked up, so I still had some hope of staying cool even when I hit stop signs. I'd just about cooled down enough to think I might survive the day when I saw a car stopped up ahead, hood up and hazards flashing. And then I noticed the owner up on the sidewalk, fishing around in her pocketbook.

My low whistle would have tickled Soda to death. Course, he'd probably have whistled right alongside me.

I pulled my truck to the curb in front of her car, being careful to leave myself room to have a look at the engine. I'm not the automotive genius that Steve is, and I'm not even up to par with Soda. But I know a few things. Hopefully enough to help the grateful looking woman standing next to the '59 Impala.

She smiled widely at me. The breeze whipped strands of chestnut hair across her pale skin. If she was uncomfortable in the harsh sun, though, she didn't let on. "Hi, there," she greeted, looking as cheerful as the sundress she wore. It was yellow, with cherries all over it.

"I-," My throat had gone dry. I wasn't sure if it was from the sight of her or the thirst I still felt. "I figured you might appreciate some help," I offered weakly.

"You figured right," she answered, looking at the engine with dismay. "I was on my way home when I started smelling this horrible burning odor. I was too scared to keep on driving it that way."

"Darrel Curtis," I blurted. If suddenly saying my name out of nowhere phased her, she didn't show it.

She smiled again and something caught in my chest. "Maggie," she answered. "Maggie Connolly." She offered her hand, and I took it gently but firmly. Dad always said you don't shake a woman's hand, you just hold it briefly and let it go. I had a little trouble with the letting go part and felt like Ponyboy as my ears started to burn.

I ducked under the hood to have a look. I didn't notice anything right off, but that might've been because all I could see was that cherry covered sundress. "Would you mind if I started her up?"

Maggie wrinkled her nose. "If you can handle the smell," she said, "have at it."

I didn't like the sound of the engine as I turned it on, and she was right about the smell. Scalded rubber. That meant a hose or a belt. When I poked my head back under the hood, I could see that her fan belt was getting caught on the pulley, causing the belt to slick and the pulley to glaze.

"You might as well be speaking Greek," she laughed. The sound of it pulsed through me.

I started. I hadn't realized I'd said that aloud. _Jesus, Curtis, _I admonished myself, _get a grip! _Out loud, I said, "Well, the bad news is, I think you're gonna need a new belt."

"And the good news?"

"Good news is, I know a mechanic who can tow you and have your car on the road well before sundown." I squinted at her in the sun. Her eyes lit up with relief. _Maggie, _I thought. _Fits._

"That _is _good news," she agreed.

I looked at the buildings behind us. There was a phone on the wall of the bicycle repair shop on the corner. "Let me just go call the garage," I said.

"I'll come with you," she replied, and I felt myself grin stupidly. She started poking around in her pocketbook for a dime, but I pushed one into the phone and was dialing the DX before she came up with one. "Oh!" She smoothed her dress as the breeze ruffled it. Then the breeze caught her hair again, and she chased after that, pulling the wayward locks off of her face. I wished I'd thought to have done it for her, but that would have been mighty pushy.

"Hey," I said as I suddenly became aware of what had to be Steve's second or third 'hello'. "Steve, I need a favor."

"Sure, Darry," he said. "Soda! It's Superman!" Then he asked, "Whatcha need?"

"I'm at the corner of Eighth and Preston," I replied, rubbing my arm across my forehead to catch the sweat. I hoped I didn't stink to high heaven. "There's a blue Chevy Impala that needs a tow."

"Yeah? Whose?" We didn't know anyone with a blue Impala.

"Her name's Maggie Connolly," I told him. "How quick can you get here?"

"Gimme fifteen minutes," Steve said and hung up.

"Fifteen minutes," I said to Maggie, smirking when her eyebrows went up.

"Wow," she said. "You weren't kidding."

We walked back out to the curb. She shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand. Her nails were painted a classy soft red, just like her lips. _Matches the cherries, _I thought.

"If you don't have to rush off, can I buy you a lemonade?" She gestured to the A&W across the street.

"Ah," I said, wondering what time it was. Though I hated to remember it, I was on Murphy's time. But it couldn't have been too long yet. And she was smiling so sweetly up at me. It would take a stronger guy to say no. "Sure."

Without thinking about it, I took her hand. She just gave me an amused grin and followed my lead.

"So, Darrel," she said as we settled at a table by the window to watch for Steve, "I can tell you work outdoors. I'm guessing construction?"

"Is it that obvious?" I ducked my head to sip at the lemonade. It took all I had not to suck it down in greedy gulps. Right then, it was just about the best thing I'd ever tasted.

She blushed a little. "Well, I cheated," she said with a small laugh. "I saw your tool belt on the seat of your truck."

I grinned. "That'll do it," I agreed.

"I work over at Jonas Salk Elementary. Or, at least, I will be come September."

"Teacher?" I asked.

She nodded. "Third grade. No students yet, of course, but they drag all the faculty in for workshops and lesson plan reviews."

"Makes sense," I said lamely. Just looking at her, you knew we couldn't have much in common. School was history, at least for me. And even though she was a third grade teacher and not a college professor, I felt out of her league. Not that I hadn't felt that way from the moment I saw her. Still, you couldn't blame a guy for looking. Or appreciating.

"How long have you been in construction?"

"Uh," I stopped myself from saying _forever_. "I guess it's been about…" I sat up taller, surprised. "Almost two years now, I guess." Time flies whether you're having fun or not. Not that I minded roofing, really. But college…

I noticed Maggie looking at me with a curious expression, and I put those thoughts away. She sipped at her lemonade, and I was mesmerized. _Ask her something! Say_ something_, you dope!_

"How long have you been teaching?"

"This will be my first year, actually," she answered, fiddling with the corner of a napkin. "I moved back here after graduation in June. My father's not well," she explained, and her face took on a sad cast.

"I'm sorry." I knew what it was to lose a parent, after all.

"You really are," she mused, then blushed. "Oh," she covered her mouth with her hand. "It's just most people just spit those words out automatically. But…" she shook her head and wrinkled her nose up again.

"But?" I wondered.

"Well, I was going to say that you seemed very genuine, like maybe you knew how I felt because you've been there. But that's so forward of me, assuming like that."

"You're right, though," I replied quietly.

"Oh," she said again, looking down at the table. After a long silence, she asked, "Ever just want the ground to open up and swallow you?"

I chuckled. "Now and again."

We sipped our lemonades, but the silence wasn't as awkward as you might expect. She casually asked about my family, and I explained about our folks and about looking after Soda and Ponyboy. I waited for her to wrinkle her nose up at their names, but she just tipped her head and said,

"Your folks sound like interesting people."

I think I fell a little in love with her just then. Or a good solid crush, anyway. "They were," I nodded. And then I saw Steve pull up behind her car, since my truck was in the way. "That's Steve," I pointed, standing reluctantly.

"Guess we'd better get across the street then," she said.

I nodded, sorry that we couldn't just sit and drink lemonade and talk to one another all afternoon. But I had to get back, and she surely had more important things to do than sit swilling lemonade with a sweaty roof rat.

"Hey, Steve," I greeted as we neared.

He'd been standing with his hands on his hips, studying the car, and he lifted his head. The smile that spread across his face told me Maggie had a similar effect on him. "Hey, Dar. This your car?" He asked her with interest.

"It is," Maggie nodded.

"Nice car," he said, running his hand along the door.

"Steve, this is Maggie Connolly. Maggie, this is Steve. Probably the best mechanic in Oklahoma."

Steve almost took her hand when she offered it, but then he remembered how greasy his was, and he pressed it to his coveralls. "Wouldn't want to dirty up such a pretty hand," he said, nodding at her, instead.

She grinned. "Another gentleman."

Steve looked from her to me and back to her again. Then his face changed. I told myself to remember that moment the next time he said something stupid. I'd be sure to let it go.

"Do you need a ride anywhere?" I asked, knowing I'd have to move my truck so Steve could rig hers for the tow.

She hesitated. "I didn't think of that," she said. "I don't know that I want to wait for it, but I'm not sure how I'd get back to pick it up, either."

I didn't figure she'd enjoy sitting in the Ace until Steve finished with her car, so I said, "I can drop you anywhere you need to go, and–"

"And if you need a ride back to the DX to pick up your car, I could come out after you," Steve finished. "You know," he said, meeting my eyes for a second, "as a favor to Darry."

The corners of her mouth turned up again. I couldn't get enough of her smile. Lord, what a dope I was. "That sounds fine," she said.

I wondered if there was anything embarrassing in the truck, like one of Soda's dirty t-shirts or any past due bills shoved up on the dash. There weren't. Just my tool belt, flung across the passenger side, and I scooped that up and placed it in the bed of the truck, wiping the seat with my hand. Then I offered my hand to Maggie for a boost up into the cab. She didn't really need it, though. She just stepped up from the curb easily. But she put her hand in mine, anyway, and that little something pulsed in my chest again.

"Ready?" I asked after sliding behind the wheel.

"Whenever you are," she nodded gamely. "I'm on Summerland, just off of Ninth."

The neighborhood surprised me a little. It wasn't a real soc section of town. It wasn't greaser territory, either, but it was pretty firmly in that in between area. Middle middle class, Two-Bit liked to joke. Far from rich but also a good, healthy distance from poor.

The houses were on the smaller side. Larger than our place, of course, but not the sprawling ramble of the west side. The lawns were trimmed and tidy, the porches crowded with sunny pots of flowers and hanging plants and cozy swings or gliders. The trees were mature, yawning up into the sky. Every now and then a tire swing dangled from a low branch. When I dared think about the distant future, usually with some borrowed hope from Ponyboy, I thought of a place like this. My own roofing company, maybe, or somehow the miracle of school. Dreams I didn't dare entertain very often, but I entertained a few as I shared an easy silence with Maggie Connolly.

When I eased up next to a little brick house with white trim, the thing that caught my attention was the roof. Cedar shake, and from the looks of it, old and in need of replacement. I bit my tongue before I mentioned it. I didn't want her to think I was drumming up work, but it seemed to me that if it wasn't already, it'd be leaking soon. It wasn't my place, though. Or was it? If I brought it up, would she think I was just a slick salesman? If I didn't and she had troubles down the road, would she wonder why I hadn't said a word?

"Penny for those thoughts," she said.

I jumped, chuckling guiltily. "Ah," I tried to figure out what to say. "Listen, Maggie, I had a really nice time. Thanks for the lemonade."

"My pleasure," she smiled. "But that's not what you wanted to say, was it?"

"Uh," I paused, rubbing the back of my neck with one hand. She was damn perceptive. But she didn't come across as nosy, which I liked. "no. Not exactly."

She just waited, watching me curiously.

"I was going to say it looks like your roof needs a little work, but I didn't want you to think I was just trying to make a buck."

She broke into another one of those delighted smiles. "Such a gentleman," she said, shaking her head. "I've been noticing that it doesn't look like the other houses on the block, but I haven't been able to convince my mother to have it looked at. She's so afraid of being taken advantage of, you know, since my father…" She trailed off.

I nodded. "Some guys will take advantage," I agreed. "I could take a look sometime, if you'd like."

"I would like," she agreed. She opened her pocketbook and dug around a little, but she didn't find what she was after. "I thought I had a pen in here," she said, still searching with her hand. "I have paper, but nothing to write with."

"I'm in the phone book," I told her. "D. Curtis."

"Thank you, Darrel," she said, snapping her pocketbook.

I nodded. "My friends call me Darry," I said, opening my door.

"Darry," she repeated as I appeared at her door and offered my hand to help her out. A little burst of electricity shot up my arm as she took my hand and slid easily out of the truck.

We just stood there looking at each other for a moment. She smiled softly, using her free hand to tame another few of those wayward locks. And then a dog barked somewhere on the block, and the shrill sound of it seemed to break the spell.

"Well, Darry," she said, squeezing my hand, "I'll phone you about the roof. Thanks again for all your help."  
"Thanks again for the lemonade," I grinned. I stood watching until she made it safely to her door. _Stupid, _I thought as she waved and went inside, _you should have walked her all the way! _

And I stood there for a few moments after it closed, studying the weary roof.

* * *

_**A/N: Attack of the subplots!!! Heh, heh. I decided Darry needed to get a love life. ;P**_


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N: And now, back to our regularly scheduled program…(which, by the way, is occurring during the same afternoon as Darry's meeting w/ Maggie…)**_

* * *

Cherry was just finishing up with the Quarter horse when Randy and I made it back to the stall. She looked at us curiously, but she didn't say anything except to suggest that we get a bite to eat. I was pretty well out of money, though, and it wasn't exactly the time to ask Darry for any. I knew things weren't good.

"I should probably be getting back home," I said. And that was true enough. The bus ride and the walk had taken up a considerable amount of time, as would the walk and the ride back.

I glanced up as those two stable hands passed by. The bigger one was wearing a Helsden t-shirt. Helsden is a greaser bar. Tim says most of the guys that go there are too stupid to understand the name. Hell's Den. Except the owner is this know-it-all type who thinks he's being funny with the oh-so-innocent spelling. Whenever anybody thinks to ask him about it, he'll tell a different story to each person just to see them end up fighting over who's right. Anyway, it's sort of like the Ace except…worse. LSD is as common as cocktail peanuts. People get killed there once in a while, the fights get so bad. Buck would never let the sort of stuff that goes on at Helsden happen in the Ace. Darry said if he ever found out Soda and I so much as poked our faces in the door, he'd kill us both.

Seeing them, I wasn't so sure I should be going home alone. After all, it's like I said. Sometimes people don't care who they mess with. The connections can get pretty loose. Still, Cherry wasn't going to be ready to leave for a while. She said she still had two more horses to run. Randy had come down to see her, not me. I don't think he would have come at all if he'd known I'd be here.

Anyway, Cherry looked at me now. "I can't talk you into it?" She asked, meaning tagging along for a bite to eat.

I grinned. "Nah. Darry'll be mad if he gets home before I do. I didn't tell him I was going anywhere."

I turned to go and lifted my hand by way of goodbye. To my surprise, Randy caught up with me.

"Want a ride?" He looked sort of nervous as he came out of the stall. He looked to the left, in the direction those stable hands had gone. Maybe he _had_ noticed them.

"Sure," I shrugged. "Just to the bus stop. You don't have to go all the way out to the east side."

"It's no big thing. Up to you," he added casually.

In the end, I had him drop me at the bus stop. I figured all he really wanted, anyway, was to have company walking out to the parking area, which was somewhat far from the stables themselves. But I didn't mind. He was saving me the two miles to the bus stop, which I figured would be good for my knee. In exchange, I was the someone–anyone–that could mean the difference between getting jumped and not getting jumped.

When he dropped me at the curb, he said, "Thanks, Ponyboy. You're real…" I waited for him to complete the thought. "You're a good guy," he finished, not looking at me.

"Yeah," I said, feeling sort of awkward. "You, too."

I guessed we were ok again. As much as we ever were, anyway.

* * *

He wasn't gone long at all, but by the time Steve pulled into the station with the Impala in tow, I was up to my ears in customers. Everybody was cranky and hot, including me. _Gosh, if this heat wave doesn't break soon we're all gonna go apeshit, _I thought. But I plastered a smile on my face and just kept on washing windshields and filling tanks and accepting the piddly little tips that all the hot, tired and irritated drivers offered. Hell, it's not like tip money was anything I could count on. Most people figured it was just my job, anyhow, and never gave me a dime for my efforts. Usually a smile from a pretty girl was all I needed, but with money so tight these days I was only able to keep a few bucks for myself if the tips were good.

And I was damn curious about the whole car situation, too. Darry rarely called into the station for any reason. Calling in for a favor was about like if he'd called up to say they were ice skating in Hell. When Stevie said Darry'd mentioned the owner's name…a Maggie Somebody or Other, well, that just perked me right up. Damsels in distress and all that.

Irritation built up in me as I tried to clear the customers out so I could find out about this Maggie person. Being a roofer, Darry doesn't run into a lot of females. I wondered how he'd come across this one.

"Hey, Soda," came a voice from the car beside me, pulling me out of my daze.

I grinned. "Hey, Wanda," I answered. She and I had been dancing around each other for a couple weeks now. Steve's girlfriend, Evie, had brought her around the station. Said she was a cousin from back east someplace. I can't remember where.

"Hot, isn't it?" She asked, fanning herself with a freebie from the Mercury Diner up on River Street.

"Very," I agreed. She turned the paper fan on me for a couple of beats. "That's real nice," I said, moving down to her tank.

"Evie was saying that about the only time we get any relief lately is around sunset."

I nodded. "She's not kidding."

"We thought we might pack up a nice meal and have a picnic on the Arkansas on Saturday, right around sundown. It'll be a full moon, so even once it gets dark we should have plenty of light." She smiled at me.

"Sounds nice," I said, switching off the gas and putting the nozzle back.

"You and Steve want to come along with us?"

I gave her a lazy smile. Did I want to be on a blanket in the moonlight with her? Shucks, who would say no? "I don't know about Steve, but it sounds good to me."

"Well, then," she said, pushing back a handful of her golden blonde hair, "I'll just have to tell Evie to ask Steve." She hit me a couple times with that fan again. I washed her windshield. She turned down an oil check, though. "I just had you check it last week, remember?"

I nodded. Come to think of it, she had. "Alright then," I said.

"Stay cool," Wanda said, starting her engine. "Maybe I'll see you Saturday, then."

I nodded again. Funny how a little flirting with a pretty girl can lift your spirits right up. And the fact that another customer didn't drive in right in her wake was a bonus.

"Hey, Stevie!" I called, heading off to the garage to find him. In the short time I'd been talking to Wanda, he'd unhooked the Impala and had gotten it inside. "You wanna go out with Evie?"

He looked up at me from the driver's seat of the Impala, where he was just popping the hood. "You mean up at the river on Saturday?"

I blinked. "Evie already mentioned it?"

"Saw her this morning," he nodded. "You were just getting in for your shift."

I grinned. "Can't say no to cuddling up on a blanket," I joked.

He grinned right back at me. "Didn't think so. I told her we'd pick them up about six-thirty. That work for you?"

"Sure," I said. "I ain't—shoot." I sighed heavily. "Forgot. I had Monday off. Buck's got me here all weekend."

"You'll be off before six-thirty, though, won't ya?" he asked, already around the front of the car under the hood.

"Lemme check…" I called over my shoulder and headed for the back room where Buck posts the weekly schedules for us as well as for the Ace girls. Saturday…Saturday…I scanned to the end of the week by my name. _8-4._ Relief washed over me in waves. I didn't even mind that he was making me work so early on a Saturday morning. Or that I was working twelve to six on Sunday.

"Yeah, I'm off at four!" I called. I peeked out front. Nothing. "So, hey. Tell me about this Maggie."

Steve glanced up at me for a second, then went back to poking around. "She's a real looker," he said. "Made me rethink getting back with Evie."

I laughed. "Every pretty girl makes you do that. And then you get all lovesick and crazy about Evie all over again."

He smirked at me. "Don't I know it," he muttered, popping the battery caps with a flat head. "Man, she takes care of this car, though," he said, impressed. Stevie's half in love with any girl who doesn't neglect a car.

"So what's with Maggie?" I asked again. When he'd left with the truck, he'd said only that Darry'd been on the phone asking for a favor, and that it was for a girl named Maggie.

"I dunno," Steve answered, "But she sure had ol' Darry tied up in knots. Never seen him so awkward."

I giggled. "Well, well," I grinned, "looks like my big brother's got a crush on!"

Steve nodded. "Looks like it."

"I'll be damned. Guess this heat wave is making everybody a little crazy."

"Guess so," he answered absently.

There was no sense trying to drag any more out of him. Steve was too busy swooning over Maggie's car. He's a sucker for a Chevy, anyhow. He likes the fins, says they look tuff.

I wandered toward the garage door, keeping just in the shade. If I stood there, I could stay out of that vicious sun and still see anybody pulling in.

Man. Darry hadn't taken an interest in a girl since…Well, since just before our parents died, really. He'd been on a couple half-hearted dates, but I think that was more to keep me from bugging him about it. I can't keep anything secret from him, he says I'm too obvious. Guess it got to be obvious that I didn't think he was having enough fun with the female persuasion, because he took out a couple gals here and there. Said he had too much to deal with just keeping an eye out for me and Pony and a roof over our heads. He said women were too much trouble. Plus, he said you needed money for all those dates and you needed energy to go on all those dates. Both were in short supply for Darry. Most of the time, he came in from work just staggering.

Thing about Darry is, he's awful shy. He's got muscles and a handsome face and all, but he's… He's a lot like Pony, come to think of it. A girl so much as looks at him and he spooks. You wouldn't think a guy like Superman would have any trouble at all talking to women, but Darry gets so tongue tied sometimes it's a wonder he's ever dated at all.

Of course, another thing about Darry is he's just not interested in the sorts of girls who could give him a really nice time. He's no virgin, of course, but he's also never been one of Sheila's buffalos. Wouldn't even occur to him to try. Darry likes nice girls, and those are sort of rare in our neighborhood. And he isn't the love them and leave them type, so if he's not sure about a girl, he pretty much leaves her be. He's been doing too much of that since Mom and Dad died…too much leaving them be.

I think I'm gonna try to fan those Maggie flames a little. Maybe it's just what the doctor ordered.

* * *


	16. Chapter 16

I got home only a few minutes before Darry. It was a good thing, too, or he'd have asked me where I'd been. I didn't know Randy was going to be at the stables, but if I tried to tell him that he'd still be mad at me. And it was either tell him or lie. Since lying hadn't gotten me anyplace good lately, what with Rossey and all, I was glad to be home.

Wait a minute…was Darry whistling?

I lifted my head, the fork I was holding frozen in midair. Nah. I went back to shredding the leftover chicken from supper two nights ago. I'd already put a pot of water on to boil. When Darry finished his usual after-work clean up routine, he'd make his way in here and start scrubbing and slicing the carrots. And then we'd–

He _was _whistling.

Gosh, I don't know the last time I heard Darry whistling, you know, when it wasn't our gang's low whistle with the short high note at the end. But Darry's just like Dad was. He can take any song and whistle it so you know what it is he's whistling. Like singing without words. And he just doesn't do it that often. Usually only when he's in a really, really good mood. Last time I heard him whistle was the night those guys came to our house and finally managed to convince him he'd won a trip to St. Louis. Before that he hadn't whistled since before our folks died.

I listened hard, but it was tough to make out anything specific over the sound of the bathroom tap. But when the taps creaked shut, then I just barely made it out. _My Girl?_ I blinked. Why the heck would Darry be whistling that?

I couldn't help grinning, though. Soda's always bugging him to ask this girl or that girl out. And Darry just always finds a reason not to. Usually, that reason is us. Me and Soda. I wondered if he'd finally taken Soda's advice and asked a girl out.

Just as I'd thought, Darry sauntered into the kitchen when he finished in the bathroom, still tugging a fresh shirt down over his chest. He'd stopped whistling, though.

"Hey, Pony," he said. "Starting dinner already?"

"What?" I asked, looking behind me at the clock. "It's after five."

He shrugged. "I don't think Soda's off 'til six tonight."

"Oh."

Even so, he pulled the scarred cutting board out and began scrubbing the carrots I'd washed. "What did you do today?"

I shrugged. So much for thinking he wouldn't ask. "Not much. Went and saw Cherry at the stables, watched her exercise a couple of the horses."

He let it drop. I was pretty grateful for that. I didn't want to ruin the good mood he seemed to have going.

"What about you?" I asked. "Something happen at work?"

"Same old, same old," he said, and he rolled his head on his shoulders.

"Why are you so happy, then?"

He looked at me like he was gonna deny it, but he didn't.

"You were whistling when you came in," I pointed out.

"Was I?" he asked innocently.

I sighed. Guess it was my turn to let it drop. Darry was never gonna talk to me like he did to Soda. He was always just going to see me as a kid. I'd never be old enough for anything as far as he was concerned.

I dumped the noodles into the pot and Darry got out the casserole dish. Soon as the noodles were done we'd throw the rest together.

Darry turned on the news in the living room. Right away I could tell they were talking about Adderson Metalworks. This thing was just getting bigger and bigger. The pension fund was completely empty, and there'd been some talk about money being missing from something called the capital improvement fund. I didn't understand everything, but I knew it meant that Randy's dad had stolen more than anyone thought.

I wondered again what he spent it all on. Seemed like an awful lot more money than any one person or even any one family would need. I thought again about Randy and wondered if he was right, if he'd end up poor living in a greaser neighborhood. I just couldn't imagine that. I'm not sure Randy really could, either.

I took the noodles off the burner and carefully poured most of the water off them. Then I dumped the chicken into the pot along with the carrots and a bag of frozen peas I'd had thawing on the counter for the last half hour.

"Hey, Pony!" Darry called out. "Would you bring me a glass of ice water?"

"Yessir!" I called back.

Shoot.

There was no answer from the living room.

I left the chicken mixture on the stove and put the last four ice cubes in a glass and filled it the rest of the way from the tap. We tried keeping some in a pitcher in the fridge, but nobody ever remembered to fill it up but Darry, and I guess he got tired of that.

He didn't say anything besides 'thanks' when I handed him the water. He didn't look at me, either. But I knew it bothered him just the same. I wished again that I could stop, but it was always too late. By the time I realized I shouldn't say it, it was already said.

Worst thing is, I'd done it to Soda, too. This morning, in fact. We'd been in the bathroom at the same time, me at the sink and him in the shower. He'd asked if there was any more bar soap, and when I told him there was one bar left, he said,

"Hand it to me, will ya?"

And I 'yessired' him, dropping the bar of soap into his hand as he poked it out past the curtain. He didn't say anything either, but I knew he was real upset about it because he got real quiet after that. He didn't say another word before he left for work, and that's not like Soda.

After filling the ice tray with fresh water and returning it to the freezer, I pulled open every drawer in the kitchen, but I couldn't find the can opener anyplace. We normally had it in the drawer next to the sink on the right side, but it wasn't there. I checked the dish drainer, and it wasn't there, either. I pulled open the cupboard to grab a can of mushroom soup, hoping I'd find the opener and there it was, up on the second shelf near the soup. Huh. You'd think Darry would have noticed that the other night when he made the meatloaf.

Dumping the mushroom soup and an extra cup of milk into the pot, I mixed everything around and poured the goop into the casserole dish. Then I toasted two pieces of bread that none of us wanted to eat because it was stale, and I crumbled them with my hands over the casserole. Darry poked his head in the kitchen and suggested I put the casserole in the fridge for a while. I almost 'yessired' him again, but this time I caught myself.

I was pretty surprised when Soda walked in the door alone an hour later. The guys had been over a lot lately, though, and I think it was starting to get on Darry's nerves. We go through food fast enough just the three of us. With five or six, Darry's been at the market a lot lately. Not to mention the noise from all the horsing around we do. Sometimes I think he just wants some quiet.

"Hey, y'all," Soda tossed off his DX cap as usual, and it landed on the back of the sofa. Then he kicked off his shoes and went to the bathroom to scrub another day's grease off his hands. Darry went to the bathroom door and I knew without looking he would be leaning against the frame.

"Did Steve get the car fixed by closing?" The garage closes at five, but the pumps stay open until eight.

"Sure," came Soda's muffled voice. "Fan belt doesn't take that long."

"Well," Darry answered, "you guys looked pretty busy when I passed by on the way home."

"Yeah, but Steve bumped her. Tim'll understand if his carburetor has to wait until tomorrow."

"So she got her car back today?" I've never heard Darry so anxious over a girl.

"Yeah, Darry," Soda chuckled. "Don't worry. She was fine. Are you gonna see her again sometime?"

"I dropped her off at her house," Darry was saying, but he and Soda went down the hall to Darry's room for something and I couldn't hear them anymore, except for Soda's occasional teasing laughter. Like I said. Darry thinks I'm just a kid. He doesn't talk to me about women.

Resigning myself to third wheel status, I grabbed my sketchbook off the coffee table. I was close to getting the Stovepipe just right. Maybe if I got it right, things would finally go back to normal. I'd stop yessiring Darry, stop sleepwalking, and stop feeling so restless all the time, like there was something else I should be doing.

* * *

On Friday morning, Darry asked me if I needed him to come by the house to pick me up for Bottler's Grudge. Like Soda, he wouldn't make it there right at the start. I told him no. I'd either take a bus or maybe Two-Bit would let me ride along with him and Steve.

"Just make sure you're with someone," he said, shoving his feet into his work boots. "Couple greasers got worked over on Greeley again." He knew I'd have to pass Greeley to transfer buses.

"Really?" I hadn't heard.

He nodded. "Night before last. Tim mentioned it when he left yesterday."

Tim had come by after work to have a beer with Darry and talk baseball. He'd never gotten into sports to the degree Darry had, but after St. Louis, I noticed he'd been talking baseball with Darry some. Besides, all us guys liked going to watch Bottler's Grudge. The insults and the cheers flew with equal fervor. Fistfights erupted and died out. Nothing serious. More just the like the sort of roughhousing type of thing you did with friends. It was a good way to blow off steam.

In the third year, the socs started showing up, and things got a little more volatile. When it was completely a greaser event, some guys rooted for Tulsa Bottling and some guys cheered on Whittier Trucking. Once the socs started showing up, it became greasers/bottlers and socs/truckers. I'm not sure why or how. And now a couple of cops hang around the vicinity to try to keep people out of trouble. Every year the soc crowd over by third base gets just a little bigger, and the greaser crowd a little thinner. Not much, but a little.

Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit find a way to mess with the socs each year in some way. Paybacks for sticking their noses in a greaser game. It's the one and only thing Soda won't let me in on. Darry tells him every year to cut it out and keep out of trouble. Soda doesn't listen. So far, Darry's predictions that Soda will end up in the police station have been wrong. But last year Soda wore a pretty good shiner, a fat lip, and some sore ribs when the three of them got caught soaping soc car windows. Steve and Two-Bit were cut up and bruised a little, too. It's the first time in three years that they'd gotten caught at it. I wondered if they had something planned this year.

"Pony!"

I looked up from my cereal to see Darry was finished tying his boots and was standing in the kitchen doorway with his keys.

"If you don't have a ride set up by three, you call Soda at the DX and have him get you."

I nodded. "Yeah."

He gave me a wave and left for work.

Soda got out of bed just as his truck was rumbling off down the street. "Was that Darry?" he asked, scratching the back of his head.

I nodded. "Did you know some guys got jumped on Greeley?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Why? Darry put you on lockdown?"

"No," I shrugged. "He just said not to go anyplace alone." I frowned. That meant I was stuck here until one of the guys got off work. I'd been planning on going down to the stables again and taking the bus to Bottler's Grudge later on.

"He's just looking out for you, Pony," Soda said, assuming my frown was anger at Darry. It wasn't, really. I knew that he just didn't want me to get jumped.

I nodded and took my bowl to the sink. Soda, meanwhile, wandered to the fridge and gulped the last of the milk. I was glad I'd gotten my cereal. On his way through the living room, he turned on the TV. He can't stand it quiet. I didn't mind. It'd give me something to listen to while I rinsed out my bowl and Darry's coffee mug. But Soda would be in the shower, anyway, so I didn't see why he would care.

"Pony! Come see this!" he called.

I twisted off the faucet and wondered what could be so interesting on TV at six-thirty in the morning.

What was so interesting was that Randy Adderson's house was on fire, and it was on the morning news. Or, at least, it was smoking. The fire wasn't all that bad, according to the news caster, who stood there with a practiced stricken look. It was caught quickly, and the only damage was to the front room. A bottle containing a flaming rag had been thrown through the window. The perpetrators had not been caught.

"Ponyboy," Soda said in a funny voice, "you listen to Darry on this one. Stay away from Randy."

I nodded. Things were getting out of hand now. As bad as I'd pictured things getting, I hadn't ever considered that sort of attack on the Addersons.

"Does this have anything to do with Randy being drunk the other night at the movies?" Soda asked suddenly. His eyes never left the screen. Mine didn't, either.

"Sort of," I admitted. "He figured out his father was stealing money."

"Stay away from him," Soda repeated.

"I will."

Soda frowned. Not long after, I heard the shower begin to run.

I wondered where Randy and his folks were. Were they on the street with the many onlookers that had gathered? Were they hiding somewhere? Was Randy's father arrested, sitting in jail someplace?

I thought of those stable hands and wondered if they'd had anything to do with why Randy Adderson's house was smoking on local—maybe even national—TV.


	17. Chapter 17

Two-Bit came sauntering in the house at about two, just as I was wondering how I was gonna get to Bottler's Grudge. I'd been cleaning the bathroom (I swear these days our house is cleaner than it's ever been) and was just going to grab something to drink and see what was on TV when I saw him at the counter fixing a plate of last night's leftover casserole.

One thing about Two-Bit is he'll eat anything that won't eat him first. Darry sometimes calls him a living garbage disposal but never to his face. All us guys know it's because there have been a lot of times when all there was to eat over at the Mathews place was crackers and ketchup. Darry tries not to get too mad about him always eating over here, but sometimes he'll mention it, like the other morning when Two-Bit slapped some money on the table. Neither one of them was completely joking around. Darry doesn't ever want to make Two-Bit feel like he's not welcome, but he has to draw the line somewhere.

"Howdy, Pony," Two-Bit said cheerfully, breaking into my thoughts.

"Hey," I said, pulling down a glass from the cupboard. "Darry's on a tear," I told him. "Water only between meals."

Two-Bit cracked a grin at me. "This is a meal."

I gave him a look.

"Alright, alright. Water it is. Sheesh."

He already had a glass, so I filled both with ice and then water. I wasn't hungry. I'd just had lunch an hour ago. But I sat with him at the kitchen table and kept him company while he ate.

"So what's shakin'?" he asked between forkfuls. "Been watching the news? Did you see the stuff about that Randy?"

Two-Bit always calls Randy "that Randy". He's never understood why Randy and I talk to each other. Johnny would have, but he's not here. Soda does, even if he doesn't agree with it. I think Darry tries to, but even he doesn't really understand how I'd have any association at all with anyone connected to the night that Johnny and I had to run. I mean, Darry was friends with Paul Holden back in high school and he's a soc. But Paul Holden wasn't hanging around when Johnny had to kill Bob to save me, and Randy was. That's the big issue for Darry. Not that he and Paul are still friends. That ended when Darry's chances at college ended. Nobody but me, Soda, and the rest of the gang expected Darry to go anyplace any more. And that made Darry's old soc friends sort of just wander away. Even the ones that didn't turn hostile turned awkward.

"Soda saw it on the news and told me to come look," I replied when I realized Two-Bit was still waiting for an answer.

Two-Bit shook his head. "Everywhere I go folks are talking about it," he said. "Stopped by the package store after work, the cashier and some guy were talking. Cashier's uncle was an Adderson employee for twenty years. Now he's got nothing to show for it. The guy at the counter said his dad works for the Michigan plant, and he's sure he's gonna get laid off."

I just nodded. I wasn't sure what to say to all that.

"I tell you, Pony," Two-Bit pointed his fork at me, "you better stay away from that Randy. Far as a lot of folks are concerned, it's open season on the Addersons."

He sounded just like Buck and Darry and Soda. But I knew it was true. Anybody with any sense at all knew that. The second he finished his casserole, he bounced up from the table and said,

"C'mon, we better get going."

"Two-Bit," I said, tailing him out of the kitchen, "it's barely two-thirty! Bottler's Grudge doesn't start until four."

"Yeah, but we got some stops to make," he said.

I scooped up the spare shirt Soda asked me to bring him and followed. He was already halfway to his car. What was the damn hurry?

"We gotta pick up Steve," Two-Bit said, swinging the car in the direction of the DX. "And then we gotta get a few things." He chuckled in that way he does when he's up to something.

"You're not…" I watched him try to control himself. Asking Two-Bit to keep a straight face is like asking for rain in the middle of a draught. Pretty poor chances. "Two-Bit, you know how mad Darry was when Soda came home last year."

He shrugged. "We've got it covered, Pony. Don't be such a wet blanket, kid. I swear, you're starting to be more like Darry every day."  
If he noticed my face, he didn't show it. Me? Like Darry? Yeah, right. Darry'd be the first to tell you that ain't a bit true. "All I'm saying is don't get caught this time."

"We won't, Mommy," Two-Bit giggled crazily at his own joke.

"Maybe if your mother put her foot down once in a while, you'd–"

That was the wrong thing to say. Two-Bit reached out and punched my ear. I'm not sure if that's what he was aiming to do, but since he was driving his aim was off. It hurt, but the blow wasn't the problem. I felt bad for making him so mad. He can get really funny about his mother. I told him I was sorry, that I didn't mean it like that. He didn't say a word to me until he pulled into the DX. Then he softly punched my shoulder and said,

"Let Steve sit up front, will ya?" Then, as I was climbing into the back seat, he smirked at me. "Look, Pony, it's cool. We'll be careful."

I nodded, and we both let it drop as Steve hollered to Soda to take it easy with his lead foot and tossed Soda his keys. I handed Soda's spare shirt to him, and he tossed that, too. Then Steve tipped his chin at me as he got in, and I tipped mine back.

"Did you get the stuff yet?" Steve asked Two-Bit as he barreled out of the station.

"Nope," Two-Bit answered. "We're just headed there now."

"What are you planning to do?" I asked, hoping maybe I'd catch Steve off guard. But I should have known better.

"Are we letting the kid in on it this year?" Steve asked. Figures.

"Might have to," Two-Bit said. "Can't exactly kick Pony out of the car and tell him to go wait around Croswell by his lonesome for the Grudge to start."

"I'm right back here, you know!" I snorted.

"Yeah, well, pretend you're not," Steve called back. Asshole. He really pissed me off some times.

"Got any ideas?" Two-Bit asked Steve, ignoring my complaint.

"Why can't we just drop him at Croswell?" Steve shrugged. "Crowd starts gathering at three. We could get really good seats this year."

Yeah. Sure. Never mind that I didn't want to sit around the ball field for an hour until anyone showed up. Longer, even, since Darry and Soda wouldn't leave their jobs until four. And Two-Bit, Steve, and Soda sure didn't intend to be there at the beginning.

So it was decided. I wouldn't be too likely to get jumped with all the people around. They were gonna drop me there and go off and do whatever big, secret revenge-against-the-socs scheme they'd cooked up this year. Like I didn't matter. Like I was just a kid. _For crying out loud! _I thought. _When are they gonna stop treating me like I'm ten?!_

The way I saw it, they'd be smarter to use the extra time to park the car and get a good space. There was never enough parking to go around, so folks just had to park wherever they could without getting ticketed or towed. We pretty much ended up walking several blocks just to get to the game. That was probably why the game was starting at four this year…so it'd be over before dark. There were always a couple guys jumped, cars broken into, and even a couple stabbings as folks made their way back to their cars after the game. Guess the cops figured if it was still daylight that stuff wouldn't happen. I think the cops are dumb as dirt. They can't be everywhere at once.

Two-Bit and Steve argued over whether to drop me now or after the drugstore, still keeping everything a big secret. They might as well have started talking in code. Finally, they decided I could help them carry the "stuff", and I got the exciting privilege of accompanying them into the drugstore.

The "stuff" turned out to be shaving cream. Two-Bit gave me two cans of it and told me to get myself a Pepsi. Then he handed me some money and he and Steve each took two cans for themselves. I rolled my eyes.

"This is your big plan? Creaming soc cars?"

"Not cars, Pony. _Car,_" Two-Bit said, smirking. "One lucky car, filled with good old Burma Shave."

I doubted Burt was gonna sell the stuff to us. Any idiot could figure out what he was planning to do. I was surprised to see it wasn't Burt at the counter, but some young kid that didn't look any older than me. He just grinned and rang me up without a word. Dumb luck. I'd been sort of hoping he'd refuse to sell it to us. Keep Soda from catching it from Darry this year.

Since that worked, Two-Bit and Steve each took four cans up instead of two. Still, the kid said nothing. We were in the clear. I had a bad feeling about the whole thing. Tempers were short, what with the heat wave and the Adderson scandal. Seemed to me word would have spread, too, amongst the socs, seeing as how at least three groups of them would have suffered in the last three years. Probably more. They had to be watching out.

Back in the car, Two-Bit and Steve argued again about whether or not to just bring me along. I almost started to warm up to Steve when he suggested maybe I could be of some use, but then Two-Bit asked him how he meant and Steve told him I could be lookout. Lookout, for Christ's Sake.

In the end, they dropped me at the ball field and told me to get some good seats. I almost hoped Darry would show up before they got back with Soda, because then Darry would skin the two of them. Only problem was, he'd skin Soda, too. I wasn't sure I should care if he did, though, seeing how Soda always left me out of the pre-Grudge festivities. But it's the only time he does, so I figure I can't complain. Besides, I'd rather be here getting good seats than be some little kid lookout.

Soda found me before Darry did, and he was grinning ear to ear when he saw me stretched out on the bleachers about three rows up. It had been no easy feat, I tell you. I got a lot of dirty looks and for a while I thought someone would just haul me up and shove me out of the way. But I just folded my hands over my stomach and pretended I was Tim Shepard getting a nice suntan, giving my best impression of his steady, evil eye to anyone who looked at me funny. And when it got a little more crowded, I got a few more dangerous looks when I flung one arm up over my head. I guess it worked, though, because they left me alone. They even gave me a bit of extra space and didn't sit real close to the hand I had up over my head, either. Good thing, too, or there wouldn't have been near enough room for all of us. Luckily, once the game started and I sat up, no one tried to move in on the empty space around me.

"Where's Two-Bit and Steve?" I asked.

"Parking the car," he said, already staring at the field, trying to figure out what he'd missed. "They told me to come in and find you, see if you were having any trouble holding a spot."

Tim wandered up in his lazy way. "Where's Superman?"

"Not here yet," I said, watching a guy named Harry Belfrey step up to bat for the Bottlers. He was infamous for knocking them over the fence.

Darry found us a few minutes before Steve and Two-Bit did. He gave Soda a questioning look, but Soda just gave him a big grin and leapt to his feet shouting as Belfrey hit a homer. That took Darry's attention right off of any suspicion and put it on the game. When Steve and Two-Bit showed up, all smiles, Darry barely glanced their way, he was so intent on the game.

It was hotter than anything out there, and I'd already been sweating it out for almost an hour before the Grudge started. By the time we hit the seventh inning, all of us were sweating like pigs. Soda offered to get drinks for everyone and dragged Steve with him. When they returned at the end of the seventh inning, both of them looked funny. Sort of spooked. But they didn't say a word, just handed Tim, Darry, and I each a drink and sat down next to Two-Bit.

By the eighth inning, Soda was shifting around impatiently in his seat. He and Steve kept putting their heads together and talking, and then Steve would lean over and talk to Two-Bit. I tried to hear what they were saying, but all the noise from the crowd drowned them out. They were looking everyplace except the game. Luckily, Darry didn't notice. He was, as always, absorbed by the action. Though he did occasionally point out something or other to Tim.

At the top of the ninth, I thought Soda was going to wear a hole in the bleachers with his butt, what with all the squirming he was doing. The game was so close, it could go either way, but I was pretty sure that's not what was making Soda so antsy. Just as he stood up, Belfrey hit a grand slam and we all jumped up cheering again. Soda looked like he wanted to moan instead of cheer, though.

The second the game ended—Bottlers 9, Truckers 5—Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit stood up. But Tim and Darry weren't moving, so I couldn't go anywhere. And that meant they couldn't, either, unless they went the other way. Finally, though, they couldn't stand it and started moving down the bleachers in front of us as they cleared out.

"Hey, Soda!" Darry called.

Soda stopped short. I could almost hear him trying to decide whether to turn around or keep going. He turned around.

"Can you take Pony home? I've gotta drop Tim off at the plant. He's working graveyard tonight."

I guess Steve still hadn't fixed Tim's car. Soda looked like a deer caught in the headlights. He leaned over and said something to Steve and Two-Bit, but the crowds pouring down from the bleachers on either side of us drowned it out.

"Sure," Soda said, but he sure didn't sound happy about it. Darry gave him a funny look but said nothing. He and Tim started down. Soda grabbed my arm. "Where did you guys park?" He asked Darry.

"Just off of Baker and Newton. Where are you?"

Soda looked relieved. "Not far from there. Baker and Kent," he said. Baker and Kent was just a little farther west.

They were still jumpy as hell, but now they seemed eager to stick close to Darry and Tim. All three of them kept looking around as if watching for someone. Darry glanced at them from time to time, and I could tell he knew something was going on. He got that tense, wired look he gets before a rumble. It dawned on me then that something must have gone wrong with the big soc prank. That's what they were so edgy about. I bet they'd been made and that Soda and Steve had had a close call at the concession stand. I found myself ticking off the streets in spite of myself. Waters Avenue, Beech Avenue, Stoddard…Newton. We turned on to Newton and the crowd thinned out quite a bit. Most folks had parked closer.

Newton and Baker meet at the intersection of a large, empty field where they used to grow corn, up until the city bled out and swallowed up most of the little farms and spit out a bunch of warehouses. Seems like all the guys, myself included, noticed the cars at about the same time. One on Barker, two on Newton.

For all their nervousness during the game, Soda, Steve and Two-Bit were just as rock solid as Darry and Tim now. I waited to feel afraid, but all that really hit me was a sort of detached thought. _Guess they got caught again. _When eleven guys got out of the three cars, I thought, _Uh-oh, _but I still felt nothing. Just "uh-oh" like "uh-oh, we're out of milk". That was strange, because normally a little zing of fear coursed through me just before a rumble.

"What're you smiling about, grease?" an impossibly tall guy with jet black hair and coal black eyes sneered at Two-Bit. I wondered off-handedly if that's what Johnny would have looked like as a soc. "You think it's funny, you and your greaser friends putting all that shaving cream in my car?"

I saw Darry, who'd stepped in front of me, shoot Soda and Steve a questioning look. Soda winced, just a little. It was all the answer Darry needed. He tensed even more than he'd been, and Tim went rigid beside him.

Two-Bit, of course, couldn't keep his mouth shut. "Just thought we'd help you out with that gorilla face of yours."

That was all it took. The guy swung at Two-Bit, who had the sense to duck. But I guess Darry wasn't anticipating that Two-Bit would actually manage to avoid the blow, because the guys fist connected with Darry's jaw.

And so the fight began.


	18. Chapter 18

I tried to keep an eye out for Pony. He was fighting wounded, what with his knee still hurting. He probably thought I hadn't noticed that he'd been limping more since he stopped using those crutches, but I had. It was no easy feat, watching out for Ponyboy in a fight of eleven against six. We were down by almost half.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw two guys grab Soda and the tall one whose car they creamed began to work him over pretty good. That pulled my focus away from Pony. I knocked one of the guys that was holding him into next week with a right hook followed by an uppercut. Problem solved, at least for the time being.

_Too damn many of them,_ I thought, grabbing Soda's aggressor by the shoulder and spinning him around. He went down after a couple hard jabs to the midsection. I looked for Pony. Some guy had him in a chokehold, but he did just what I'd always told him. He leaned into the guy and elbowed him repeatedly until the guy's grip loosened enough for Pony to get out.

I was so busy watching Pony pound on the guy that someone else managed to hit me hard enough in the gut to knock the wind out of me for a second. When I rolled to my feet and jabbed at the offender, I caught sight of Pony taking a hard enough blow to the jaw that he fell backwards onto one shoulder. I winced and shoved past the oddly wiry little guy who'd set his sights on me, but before I could get to Pony, he was on his feet helping out Two-Bit, who had two guys on him at once.

I got distracted again as another guy joined the little one. This one smelled like he'd done the backstroke in a vat of beer and sunk his fist into my stomach with amazing power, considering how crocked he was. I stumbled backward into Tim, but that accident was more helpful that hurtful, since it steadied both of us where we might have otherwise gone down.

On one hand, fights are a big blur of fists and feet. On the other, it seems like things almost move with a slow motion sort of clarity. I get flashes of things, and those flashes tell me who needs help, who doesn't, and where the danger is. _Flash. _Soda's got blood running down his chin, but he's holding his own. _Flash. _Tim just dropped the tall guy again. Guess once wasn't enough. _Flash. _Where's Pony? Where is he ? _Flash. _Someone's got a blade, and it ain't one of us. _Flash. _He's squaring off with Pony!

"Knife!" I shouted, socking the persistent little guy, who kept getting up just when I thought I'd dropped him. He fought like the devil. I couldn't get him to stay down.

I wheeled around to lunge at the soc holding the knife, but in a furious motion, Ponyboy had both hands on the guy's wrist and his bad knee in the guy's midsection. And then before I really saw just how it happened, the guy was facedown in the dirt with Pony's left foot pressing hard on the guy's neck. And Pony was hollering a stream of curses at him that I didn't even know he knew.

"Hey!" one of the socs shouted. "Hey, kid, ease up! Hey!"

Things wound down to a strange stop. One second everybody's beating on each other, and then I called out about the knife and everything sort of froze for a second. And now the guy was turning colors…first red, now sort of gray. He was really in trouble, but I couldn't move. Either Pony couldn't, or he wouldn't.

"Kid!" the tall one cried out in a panic. "Look, we're going! We're gonna get in our cars and go…" His voice grew increasingly desperate. I wondered if maybe that guy was me, and the kid under Pony's foot was Pony. It could've been me. That's how I would sound… "Kid, just let him up!"

We'd all been frozen in place, but I suddenly reached out and tugged Ponyboy backward. He just looked at me with that same expressionless face he'd worn at camp. But he stepped back a little further and let me pull him away as a couple of the socs grabbed their man, who was gasping and choking. They kept the word of the one who'd begged Pony to let the kid go.

An odd hush had fallen on the field. They silently piled into the three cars. Soda pressed the tail of his shirt to his still dripping chin. Steve reached a hand down to Two-Bit, who'd been pinned under one of them and whose face was going to be a riot of bruises tomorrow. Tim just stood rubbing his hand, made sore by hitting too many hard headed rich kids.

Ponyboy, still breathing heavily, just turned and resumed walking down Newton as if nothing had happened. But he reached up and rubbed a hand over his head as if to smooth the short spikes. I didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified at the way his hand shook as he did it.

* * *

I didn't need Darry to tell me plans had changed. Even though I hadn't been there when he'd parked it, our faded red truck wasn't hard to find, sitting a few cars back on Baker. I climbed into the back. Tim could have the front. I wondered if he got blood anywhere, or if he could just go straight to the plant. Darry looked at me like he wanted to say something, but then he just slammed into the cab and started the truck. Tim looked at me, too, with a thoughtful sort of look on his face I don't think I'd ever seen before. But then he just got in beside Darry. The truck pulled away from the curb almost before he got the door closed. I saw Two-Bit, Soda, and Steve staring at me as they crossed Baker, heading for Kent Avenue.

I didn't stop shaking until Darry pulled up to our house after dropping Tim at the plant, which was funny because I didn't feel scared at all and couldn't remember ever having the shakes before, during or after a fight.

I didn't wait for Darry to get out. In fact, before the truck fully stopped, I hopped out of the back, making sure to land on my left leg instead of my right. I limped straight to the kitchen and made myself an ice towel to save Darry the trouble. I heard him in the bathroom cleaning up as I flopped on the sofa with the ice. Now a feeling of dread began to creep in. It didn't take a genius to know Darry was probably as mad as he'd ever been at the three of them, but I had this sick feeling that for some reason, he was mostly mad at Soda. I couldn't figure out why, since all three of them cooked up the shaving cream bit, and all three of them carried it out.

I wondered if Soda was even going to come home that night. I sure hoped so, because if he stayed out Darry would only get angrier. I knew the others were gonna stay as far away as they could get for a few days. Heck, even Tim would probably avoid our place like the plague.

"Pony, you alright?"

I heard Darry's gruff voice above me and opened my eyes to see him looking down at me. Great. So we were back to the loaded looks again.

"I'm fine," I said wearily.

He watched me for another second as if to make sure. I jut closed my eyes and waited for Soda, willing him to walk in the door and just get it over with.

I knew there would be a lot of yelling, but even I didn't expect Darry to lay into Soda as hard as he did. In fact, he barely got one foot in the door before Darry was up out of the chair, towering over him.

"When I tell you to do something, Soda, you damn well _do _it!"

Truthfully, Soda looked awful. There were shadows under his eyes that made it look like he hadn't slept in days even though he had. "Darry, I–"

"_What_ did I tell you last year, Soda?"

This time Soda knew better than to try to answer.

"When you came in all banged up, what did I tell you, huh?" Darry stood about an inch from Soda's face. It reminded me of Kent. My whole body went rigid. "I told you to cut this crap out, didn't I? I'm pretty sure that's what I said!"

Soda tried again, looking at me with a miserable, anxious expression. "Darry, we never–"

"You _never,_" Darry echoed. "What? You never considered that you might get caught? You never considered that a soc might pull a knife? You never considered that Ponyboy might have been killed?"

Soda's face slid from miserable to abysmal. He gave me a pleading look.

"Darry," I said, "C'mon. Soda wouldn't–"

"Pony," his voice rose in warning, "Don't." Darry pointed at Soda. "This is the last time I'm telling you, Soda. Next year you don't go to the Grudge unless you go with me. And I damn sure better know where you are for every minute of the day before it starts."

Soda just nodded, looking at the floor.

"What you three did tonight was _stupid_. You put Pony, Tim, me, and yourselves in danger. _Anything_ could have happened once that knife came out."

"Darry–" Soda's eyes were starting to shine.

"_No, _Soda. I don't want to hear that you know, that you messed up, that you're sorry," Darry spat, pointing at him accusingly. "I seem to recall you saying that last year. Did it make a damn bit of diffence? No, siree bub." Darry shook his head. It reminded me so much of the night he hit me that a lump shot into my throat.

"But I _am _sorry, Darry!" Soda cried, his face desperate. "You know I'd never do anything to hurt Pony! It was just supposed to be a prank, that's all…a little fun…"

When Soda's voice cracked, a little bit of the wind left Darry's sails. "Soda," he sighed, rubbing his forehead, "We're damn lucky that Ponyboy was able to get that guy on the ground before he got sliced up. There are about a hundred other ways things could have ended tonight. We could just as easily be at the hospital or _burying_ our brother tonight…all because you three lunkheads wanted to have a little fun." Darry's voice was soft, but it was far from gentle.

Soda broke then, and he bolted out of the house. Darry cast a guilty look my way as I rolled to my feet and limped as quick as I could after him, sure he was going to disappear before I could stop him.

But he hadn't disappeared. He was on the sofa, elbows on his knees, grinding the heels of his hands against his eyes. From the way his shoulders shook, I knew he was crying. It rattled the hell out of me, because he doesn't cry all that often. I sat down beside him and flung an arm across his shoulders. He shook his head.

"I'd do anything if I could just go back and _not _cream that car, Pony," he choked. "I never wanted any of that to happen, I swear!"

"I know it, Soda," I said. "I'm ok." He just started shaking harder. " C'mon, Soda," I told him softly, "you know how Darry is. He's not good at scared."

Soda tried to laugh, but he just sort of croaked, instead. "No kidding."

"Just let him cool down," I said. Then I blinked at what a role reversal it was. Usually, it was his arm around me, squeezing hard as he tried to make me laugh.

"I'm sorry, Pony," he said miserably.

"I know. It's ok," I repeated. "Just don't do it again."

"I won't," he promised. Sniffing, he ran the back of his hand under his nose. "Man, when I saw that blade, I was so scared, Pony…"

I squeezed his shoulder again, then let my arm drop. Drained, he fell back against the sagging frame. I dropped back, too, and we just sat there for a while, watching the sun start its slow, easy slide down the horizon. After a while longer, he turned to look at me.

"Pony, back there," he started, his eyes troubled, "that guy…you–" He frowned. "The way you didn't…" Soda trailed off, looking out at the street.

I shrugged. I didn't know how to answer the questions he didn't know how to ask. He tried again.

"You weren't like yourself out there," he said. I met his eyes, but I hated the worry I saw there, so this time I looked out at the empty street. "You were yelling at him, yelling things I've never even heard Darry say before. The guy, he couldn't breathe. He might've died if Darry didn't grab you and pull you away."

A shiver zipped down my spine. I what? I couldn't picture Darry letting me carry on like what Soda was describing. He'd sooner haul off and deck me, himself. I shook my head. "Darry said 'knife!' and I saw the knife," I told him, thinking back on it. "I remember grabbing his wrist and putting my knee in his gut." I shivered again. "And then I remember them leaving."

Soda stared at me with an odd expression. "They left because you were cutting off his air, Pony. The soc that owned the car kept begging you to stop, said they'd leave if you'd just let go…" Soda trailed off again. "You didn't let up, Pony. He turned sort of gray. That's when Darry grabbed you, pulled you back."

No. No, that wasn't right. "I remember Darry holding my arm," I admitted. "And I remember the socs getting back in their cars."

I knew it was the wrong thing to say. I knew Soda would end up telling Darry how I didn't remember screaming and cussing and just standing on the guy's neck without letting up. But I couldn't lie to Soda. I _didn't _remember.

Now it was Soda's turn to put an arm around me. "Pony, c'mon," he pleaded. "Talk to me. What happened back there? Were you scared? Was it because of the knife? Did Kent threaten you like that, with a knife? Is that why you got so intense?"

I shook my head again. "No, Soda. I swear. Nothing like that."

I knew it wasn't the answer he wanted. He wanted me to say yes so that maybe I could finally let it out, this hidden thing that he was sure was bothering me, like pushing the pus out of an infected wound. But I couldn't tell him that, because it hadn't happened.

When we finally crept back inside, Darry wasn't in the living room. I took my nightly sedative, and Soda locked up the house. I felt like the whole thing was my fault somehow, even though I knew that wasn't true. But if they weren't so worried about me being crazy, maybe Darry wouldn't have come down so hard on Soda. If I wasn't sleepwalking and forgetting things, maybe it would have been just any other summer night.

One thing was for sure. I was still really good about lying to myself about the way things really were.


	19. Chapter 19

I listened to Soda and Ponyboy move through the house. They were quiet, subdued. My chest hurt from the weight that had fallen as I'd watched Pony walk on down Newton with that hand shaking. It hadn't eased up any. I didn't want to be so tough on Soda, but seems like he doesn't listen to just a regular lecture anymore. Or maybe a year just went by and he forgot just how mad I was when he stumbled in looking like death warmed over.

The scene, those moments kept cycling through my head like a bad movie. The glint of sunlight bouncing off metal…Pony, his foot on that kid's neck…the small burst of pride at the way he'd handled himself before it turned to shock and then fear. He wasn't _there._ I know Soda saw it, too. Ponyboy's body was standing on that kid sure enough, but if I had to guess, he was back in New Mexico. Maybe he was screaming all the things he wanted to scream at Kent. Maybe, for him, that kid _was _Kent.

No. Pony's not the revenge type. If he was, he'd have had ample chances to take a few things out on Randy.

It felt suffocating in my room, even with the window open. It was nearly midnight and felt like it was still ninety degrees. I couldn't sleep to save my life. I just kept thinking of the pain that flashed in Soda's eyes with every word I spat out at him. The way he flinched when I said we could have been burying our brother tonight…implying the fault would have been all his. It wasn't fair to lay it all on him, and I knew it. But the other two idiots weren't around, so the only person left to aim it at was Soda.

How do you apologize without also lessening the gravity of the situation? The last thing I wanted to do was make it seem okay, the choice he'd made. It wasn't okay. So how could I ease up without running the risk that he'd forget again next year? Maybe that wasn't fair. I'd seen the flash of horror that crossed his face as he realized just who was on the other end of that knife. And I'd seen the relief wash over his features when Pony had him pinned, knife on the ground, pointing at no one.

Lord. Was everything always going to be this hard? How much more could a guy take? Sometimes I felt like I'd just bust open from all the pressure. Just split all apart, a puddle on the pavement. Or maybe I'd just burst into flame, let all that fear and anger and uncertainty burn until there was nothing left.

* * *

When the alarm sounded at seven, I wanted to do just like Pony did…just moan and roll over and go back to sleep. But I had to work. And I had to be on time if I wanted to keep that date with Wanda.

I dreaded leaving our bedroom, though. I didn't want to know what kind of mood Darry was in, not after last night. So like a coward, I crept into the bathroom for a shower. Anything to stall a little. Delay the inevitable.

I couldn't stop thinking about the way Pony'd looked last night. Baffled. He had no idea what I was talking about, just like when I'd told him about the sleepwalking and the porch rail. No idea at all. How could that be? How could you just forget?

The water was lukewarm, but I shivered under the spray. The last thing I wanted was for Darry to break down again, but he had to know. He had to know how bad it was. This wasn't sleepwalking. This was real life. Wide awake life. You might forget what you did when you were asleep. But you didn't forget stuff you were awake for. You don't have to be a doctor to know that.

Man, I just wanted to go back. Just back to…when? Way back. If I couldn't go back all the way, maybe just to before Johnny died, before Pony ran away. If I couldn't have Mom and Dad, maybe I could just go back to that night. Maybe step in the way so Darry hit me, instead. But maybe Pony would still have run. I don't know. Just seems everything's so much harder since then. Like school, except you can't just drop out.

I tried to think of the good stuff. Wanda. The river. Doing whatever she'd let me do. That's what I wanted. Fun. Just a little fun. There hasn't been enough lately, far as I'm concerned. Everything's so heavy around here. Darry and I are so worried about Pony. Everybody's worried. Even Steve, and that means something. Heck, even _Tim_ and that _really _means something.

Stepping out of the shower, I tucked a towel around my waist and used another to wipe off the mirror. Glory. Look at that gash, right down the center of my chin. Tuff. Wanda might not like it, though. The thought made me frown. Would it hurt to kiss her? Shoot. Hope not. Talk about killing a guy's evening. Least it wasn't my lip. That would hurt for sure. Bruise on my cheekbone, too. And several along my ribs, over my stomach. I sighed and turned away from the mirror.

Back in the bedroom, I pulled on my clothes as quietly as I could. Pony's breathing was deep and even. It stayed that way as I put on my socks and picked up my shoes. No sleepwalking last night, but it didn't make me feel any better.

I couldn't keep out of the kitchen any longer. My stomach was complaining about the hours it had gone without food. So even if Darry would be in there, I'd just have to face the music. If he had more to say, I'd listen. I deserved it.

Darry just looked up at me though, from his spot at the kitchen table. Our eyes met and locked. He didn't say a word. I didn't, either. Finally, he broke first and picked up his coffee mug. "Eggs on the stove," he said quietly. "Toast, bacon."

"Thanks," I nodded. I wondered whether or not to mention Pony right now. Maybe it could wait until tonight. Maybe it should.

When my plate was full, I poured a glass of milk and sat down in my usual spot, next to Darry. I knew he was looking at me. I tried not to look at him in case he was still real mad at me.

"Soda," he said carefully, "I know I was a little rough on you last night. I–"

"No, you weren't," I shook my head. "I deserved what I got. And I'm serious, Darry. It won't happen again."  
He sighed. I sighed, too. Mine was because now that I knew he wasn't still ready to kill me, we had to talk about Pony.

"Darry, I talked to Pony about the fight last night."

He looked at me evenly, waiting.

"He doesn't remember standing on that guy," I told him. "Says he remembers seeing the knife and kicking the guy and all, but then after that he just remembers you holding his arm and the socs getting back in their cars."

You could've painted a wall with Darry, he went so white. My stomach turned traitor on me and decided two bites was enough breakfast. I wanted to say something to make him feel better, but to tell the truth, I didn't know the words. I'm not sure there are any.

"I don't know what else to try," he finally said, rubbing the back of his neck the way he does when something's really bugging him.

"I know. I really thought Dr. Joseph was right, that he just needed time."

"Me, too. Or I was hoping, anyway." Darry fiddled with the handle of the coffee cup. "Did he get up last night?"  
"I don't think so," I shook my head. "If he did, he didn't wake me up doing it."

"Maybe it was just the tension. Things got pretty heavy."

"Maybe," I agreed, my spirits lifting a little. Maybe that was it.

"I'll keep an eye on him today. Maybe take him swimming."

"Man, I'd love a swim. This heat is killing me." It was so hot in our room last night that I thought about rinsing my bed sheet and bringing the table fan in from the living room. But that would be mean. There was only one fan, and it wasn't fair for us to hog it and leave Darry sweating it out.

Darry nodded. "Yeah. Sure wish it would rain."

Just then, Steve honked out front. Guess he didn't want to face Darry, either.

"Go ahead," Darry smirked. "I'll clean this up."

"I don't know if I'm coming home after work," I called over my shoulder. "Me and Steve are taking out Evie and Wanda tonight."

"Stay out of trouble," Darry looked at me sternly.

I grinned. "That'd be a whole different kind of trouble, Dar."

"Just the same," he shot back. But then the corners of his mouth tipped up. Just a little.

I laughed. "I will. Say hey to Pony. Tell him to come down for a Pepsi later, if he wants."

Now if I could just get Darry to make a little trouble with a girl, we'd be all set.

* * *

At just after nine, when I was starting to worry about the fact that Pony was sleeping so late, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Darrel Curtis?"

_Maggie_, I thought and felt that little hitch in my chest again. "This is Darry," I said. My tongue seemed to swell up.

"Hi, Darry, it's Maggie Connolly. You helped me with my car the other day?"

"I remember," I said. "How's it running?"

"Oh, it's back to normal. Thank you so much for your help. And your friend was such a gentleman to pick me up so I could get back to the garage."

I thought of her in that sundress again and something in me ached. Lord, it had been a long time since a woman had this effect on me. "Steve's a good guy," I said, deciding I'd let the events of last night go. They could be that stupid thing I promised to overlook.

"He is," she agreed. "Anyway, I thought I'd ask if you wouldn't mind coming out and having a look at the roof, if you have time."

"Ah," I thought about that swim I'd mentioned to Soda. It could wait just a little while, though, couldn't it? It would only take a few minutes to check out her roof and a few more to give her a bid. And a few more if I could talk her into another lemonade. Or some ice cream. On me this time.

"If you can't, that's alright," she said sweetly.

"No," I said quickly. "No, it's not that. I can. I'd be happy to. Sorry," I said. "I was just distracted there for a minute."

"I'm just so worried. The weatherman's saying we're going to have storms as early as tomorrow night. If it's as bad as you think, it might start leaking."

"Would, ah," I glanced at the clock. "Would ten-thirty be alright?"

"That'd be just fine," she said. "Do you remember where I am?"

Hell, yes. Out loud, I said, "918 Summerland, right?"

"Right," she replied, sounding pleased.

"Well, I guess I'll see you at ten-thirty."

"Great," she said. You could hear the smile in her voice. I wonder if she could hear the dopey grin in mine.

"Bye," I said. Then I waited until she hung up. That's when I noticed Ponyboy standing in the kitchen doorway grinning at me.

"Soda says you met a girl." He didn't wait for me to answer. "You gonna ask her out?"

"Maybe," I admitted. His jaw was a little swollen and shadowy with a bruise, and he was limping pretty good as he went to the stove to dump the still warm eggs on a plate, but he didn't look too bad overall. But then, it wasn't the outside I was worried about.

He grinned again. "What's her name?"

"Maggie," I answered. Maybe it would be good for him to focus on poking fun at me for a while. Hell, all the guys ribbed me about my lack of womanly company. They'd be just as curious as Pony right now, if any of them were here.

"That's pretty," Pony nodded. "What's she like?"

I felt myself turning red. Just a little. "She's…" I searched for words that wouldn't make me sound like a lovesick idiot.

"What's she look like?" Pony asked helpfully, apparently noticing that I needed him to narrow it down.

"She's about up to my chin," I said, putting my hand up under it. If it felt weird to be talking to Ponyboy about a woman, I brushed it aside. Maybe talking about something ordinary would take some of the pressure off, make him less tense. He'd been wound up so tight. "And she's got really nice hair. Sort of like Mom's."

"Brown?" Pony frowned. "I thought you liked blondes."

I fought a smile. "I guess the last few have been. But it's more than hair color. She's…nice."

"Like Cherry?" Pony asked, slathering butter on a piece of toast. He licked the knife and then winced because he knows I hate it when he does that. I let it pass.

"Yeah, I guess." I'd have to be getting in the shower in a little bit. And I needed to finish with the bills so I'd know if I'd have enough left in the savings account to buy the materials for Maggie's roof. Assuming she accepted the bid, that is.

"She's a soc?" Ponyboy looked surprised.

"No," I answered. "She's…in between."

"Oh," he nodded. He seemed relieved by that, though I couldn't say why. He seemed satisfied for the time being and sat munching thoughtfully on his toast. "Were you up when Soda left?"

I nodded. I knew he was wondering if I was still mad. "Everything's okay, Pony," I told him, rising. "He's got a date tonight, so he's not sure he'll be home after work. Said you could head over for a Pepsi, though."

Pony nodded up at me. He looked relieved. Maybe he'd be okay. He seemed okay right now. But then, he seemed okay between sleepwalking. And he'd seemed just fine at Bottler's Grudge, too.


	20. Chapter 20

I pulled up to Maggie's place almost ten minutes early. I'd been about to wear a hole in the floor at home. Pony got a real kick out of it, though he didn't say anything. He just looked up at me over his sketchbook every so often, fighting a smirk. I wanted to ask him why he kept drawing that mountain over and over again, but I also wasn't sure I wanted to know. He was being more his old self so far today than he'd been since coming home, and I didn't want to do anything to change that. By the time I left the house, Two-Bit was just heading up our walk. Maybe he'd help to keep Pony acting like his old self. When Two-Bit saw me coming down the steps, he looked nervous. I just waved his way as I left. He looked so relieved I almost laughed.

Maybe I was imagining it, but the roof seemed even worse than it had the other day. Or maybe I wanted a reason to see her again and again. Working on the roof would be that reason. It would be hard. I wouldn't be able to start until a weekend, and I'd need to round up Steve or Tim for a little help. I could probably lay a roof in my sleep by now, but some things you just need more hands for. Like I didn't really need to snap chalk lines anymore to keep my shingles straight, but they were sort of like a kid with a security blanket. You just want the lines there, even if you don't really need them. But if the sheathing was bad I'd need someone to pass the new sheets up. And with a second man, things would go a lot faster.

Hoping I'd killed enough time just considering her roof and comparing it to the others on the block, I eased out of the truck. Somehow, walking up to that door was one of the toughest things I could remember. Though my hands were steady when I held them out, I felt like I was shaking. The cure would be to see that bright, easy smile again. _Relax, dummy, _I said to myself. _Why are you so damn nervous? You've inspected about a thousand roofs. _But it wasn't the roof, and I knew it.

When I knocked and no one answered, I wondered if I'd gotten the time wrong. But I thought I heard the whine of a vacuum cleaner, so I knocked again, harder this time. When the door opened and Maggie's eyes widened, I wanted to laugh.

"Oh!" She touched a hand to her head, which she'd covered in a red bandana. She wore a pair of red pants and a long tail blue cotton shirt. It was obvious she'd been cleaning and lost track of the time, and it was even more obvious that she hadn't planned on meeting me like that. I wanted to grin because it made me feel less like an idiot for putting on my best t-shirt and jeans to go crawling around on a roof.

"Hi, Maggie. I'm sorry, I think I'm a little early," I looked down at my boots for a second.

Looking embarrassed, she said, "_I'm_ sorry, I look such a mess. I was just cleaning up a bit," she explained weakly. "My mother's having some company later."

I nodded. "That's okay. I'd probably be doing the same thing if I wasn't here." _Shut up, Curtis! Now she's going to think she's putting you out…_

"Well," she said, stepping outside to stand next to me on the porch, "I don't want to keep you. It's so nice of you to take time on your day off."

"It's no trouble," I shook my head. "Really. Let me just get the ladder out of the truck, and I'll get up there and have a look."

She smiled that thousand watt smile at me again. She didn't have a bit of makeup on today, but she was still just as pretty as she'd been standing on the curb. I know she probably didn't think so. Women never did. I grinned as I caught myself whistling again. Pony was right. It had been a long time since I'd done any whistling.

Things were a lot more grim than they'd been from the street. I didn't even need to get on the roof to realize just how bad it was. The very last thing I wanted to do was walk on it, but I wanted a better look at the ridge cap. Still, it occurred to me that I'd better know what I was walking on.

Maggie gave me a worried look. "How bad is it?"

"Bad," I admitted. "Before I walk around up there, I want to see how it was laid. Can I take a look at your attic?"

"Of course," she nodded. "Access is in the house."

The access was at the end of the hallway between two bedrooms. A quick look with a flashlight confirmed that the sheathing was also not looking so good, particularly near the chimney and the vents. I went all the way up, balancing on the beams, so I could poke at various parts of the sheathing that looked rotted out.

Climbing back down, the anxiety on Maggie's face made me dread giving her the hard truth. She not only needed a new roof but new sheathing. There wasn't much worth saving. That was going to bring the costs up.

Having seen what I'd seen in the attic, I was even more loathe to get up and walk around on the roof. The shingles probably had enough dry rot that they'd crumble under my boots. I'd have to space my steps just right so that I'd have trusses underfoot.

Maggie, still looking at my face, winced a little. "I can tell by your face that I'm not going to like what you have to say."

"Probably not," I agreed, rubbing the back of my neck. "Let's go back outside." I didn't walk her roof from the front. I'd already seen the north slope. Instead, I asked for access to the back yard, and I went up the ladder from there. The south slope was in slightly better condition, and if I was going to get a look at the ridge cap, it would either be strictly from the ladder or from the back.

It took me exactly two careful steps to realize I should have stayed on the ladder, called the roof a total loss, and got back on the ground to write the bid. Instead, two steps up, my rear foot slipped, I hit the roof, and I skidded off. I grabbed at the gutter to slow myself down, willing to take replacing it out of my own pocket if it would lessen the impact. Maggie cried out in horror before I even hit the ground. I landed on my feet but toppled backward.

It didn't feel too great, but what really ached was my ego. The last thing any guy wants is to look like an idiot in front of a woman, and I was pretty sure that's exactly what I must look like. I got the wind knocked out of me, though, so it took me a few seconds to realize she was about to run in the house and call an ambulance.

"Maggie," I called, rolling up into a sitting position. She stopped, her hand poised on the sliding glass door. I shook my head. "I'm okay, don't worry," I said as she dashed over to me.

"Oh, Darry, I'm sorry," she apologized, her eyes full of concern. "I feel terrible…"

I got up carefully, knowing I would feel it later. "Nothing to feel bad about," I told her. "I've walked enough roofs to know I shouldn't have walked on yours. That was an idiot move on my part. You're not to blame."

"You're bleeding!" she gasped, reaching for my arm.

"Huh." I looked at my forearm. Sure enough, there was a four inch gash starting just above my elbow, and it was starting to drip. When I looked up again, she'd disappeared. _Way to go, Curtis. You just went from Knight in Shining Armor to clumsy roof guy. _

In the next instant, she was back, still looking distressed as she pressed a towel to my arm. Taking my other arm, she pulled me into the shade of the back patio and led me to a redwood glider. "Here," she said, "sit down. Hold that towel, and I'll go get the first aid kit."

Embarrassed, I took a peek at the gash. I hoped I didn't need stitches. That would just put the icing on the cake. Irritated, I rubbed a spot between my eyebrows where a headache was starting.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

I lifted my head. "I'm fine, Maggie. Just sitting here feeling like a fool for taking a chance like that. I had no business walking on that roof, but I did it, anyway."

She sat down beside me. My assurances did nothing to alleviate the guilt that was written all over her face. "I still feel just awful. I knew the minute I got back to town that I should have called someone to come out sooner. My folks, they're just so focused on Dad's illness…they haven't paid a single minute's mind to anything else for the last couple of years." She shook her head, busying herself with the kit. She had a bottle of peroxide in her hand. "Every time I came home from school on a break, I thought to myself, Maggie, you need to check on that roof."

"Don't be so hard on yourself," I chuckled. "Most people wouldn't even know to make a call like that unless they had water coming in."

She moved the towel and grimaced at the sight of my arm as fresh blood welled up to take the place of the blood she wiped away. Tucking the towel against my elbow, she poured. I hissed in spite of myself at the way it burned and bubbled. Probably washed away some cedar splinters, too. But I was relieved to see that it wasn't quite deep enough for stitches. Close, but not quite.

"Well," she said, "I feel bad just the same, Darry. I'm sorry," she repeated. She focused on my arm, dabbing with the towel to dry it off.

"Maggie," I said again, "it's not your fault. Just looking at it I knew the whole roof would have to be redone. I went up there to check a couple things up close. I knew I shouldn't do it, but I did it. It's got nothing to do with whether you waited too long or you didn't."

"But how will anyone get up there safely to put a new roof on?" She worried, still pressing the towel gently against my arm. Every minute of her looking like that, so concerned, made me want to tug her against me until the worried look went away. I wanted to gather her up and soothe her frayed nerves.

"There are some things we can do to make it safer," I explained. "The same things I should have done if I was going to go walking around up there today, for example."

In another minute or so, she'd gently swabbed some antibiotic ointment along the gash, covered it with a gauze pad, and taped it up. Her hands breezing over my skin as she worked made little shocks of electricity zip up into my shoulder, where they zigged and zagged like pinballs through the rest of me. Her skin was so soft and warm, and her touch was tender and a bit shy. I felt tongue-tied again.

She wasn't so much worried anymore as she was regretful. I wondered if that regret was regret that she asked me to look at the roof at all. Maybe she was thinking she should have hired an actual company rather than a lone roofer. I wondered whether I should offer the bid, or wait to see if she mentioned it.

Wordlessly, she packed up the first aid supplies, and then she smiled softly at me. "Can I get you a drink? Some ice? Aspirin?"

I grinned. "Some water would be great," I said. While she went inside, I grabbed the ladder and hauled it back out to the truck, still kicking myself for taking a risk like that in the first place. It wasn't just about looking like an ass in front of a pretty girl, either. Guys died falling off roofs. You heard about it from time to time, someone slipping, falling, and landing just wrong enough to wind up with a busted back or neck. I had no business getting stupid on a roof, not with Soda and Ponyboy at home.

Maggie brought two glasses. She handed me one and put hers on the little table beside the glider. "How soon can you have an estimate for me?"

I rubbed the back of my neck again. The fact that I'd have to put new sheathing down threw a wrench in any figures I had in mind. I also wanted to give her a couple of different options. Most folks, once it came time to put a new roof on, were going with asphalt shingles over cedar. "I can have it ready tomorrow. I'll have to go to a couple places to price supplies. I can call you in the afternoon to go over it with you, or I could stop by with it."

"Are you sure?" she wrinkled her nose in that way of hers and as usual, I felt a little skip in my chest. "I'd hate to think I was taking up your whole weekend."

"It won't take that long," I said. "But I would like to give you a couple of different options."

She nodded. We sipped at our ice water, and I lazily rocked the glider without asking her if she'd mind. My face was just starting to burn a little until I realized she was leaning back against the cushions, one leg tucked up under her and the other foot up on the edge of the cushion, enjoying the ride. "Looks like there are some clouds down south," she said.

I looked out where she was staring. Sure enough, a thick bank of clouds squatted menacingly. It would be hours yet before they made their way into Tulsa, probably not until sundown if not later. "We could use the rain," I replied. "Anything to break this heat."

"It must be especially hard for you," she said with a frown. She turned to look at me. "I imagine it gets really hot up on a roof."

I nodded. "It sure does. Some days, I must go through a couple gallons of water."

"This heat makes me wish I was up in the mountains someplace," she mused. "Trout fishing is great on the South Platte this time of year."

"What?" I turned to her, grinning. "You fish?"

She blushed a little. "Well, my Daddy was a little disappointed that I wasn't the son he had his heart set on. Ever since I was knee high, I was a bit of a tomboy, though. Fishing, camping…" She shrugged. "He didn't mind the dolls and the frilly dresses so much, knowing he could whisk me off for a weekend in Colorado every once in a while."

My heart nearly dropped to my feet. "My dad used to take my youngest brother and me fishing up north. Since my parents died, I haven't found the time to go."

"You have two brothers, right?"

"Yeah. Soda's not one for fishing, though. He makes too much noise, and he can't sit still for that long. It bored him to death, so we left him home with Mom." I laughed. "He was more than happy to stay behind, too. For Soda, fishing is more like a punishment than a pleasure."

"I envy you, Darry," she smiled and cocked her head at me. "I always wished I had a brother or a sister growing up."

I nodded. "It's the best. There's always someone around to get into trouble with. And someone to blame things on when things go wrong," I joked. When she laughed again, warmth spread through me.

We talked a little more about fishing, our favorite spots and the best ways to cook our bounty. As the wind kicked up, the ends of her hair began to blow across her face. She reached up and gathered it all in one hand and held it. It was so odd, but even that small gesture fascinated me.

I was almost finished with my ice water. I knew I should be getting along to the lumber yard and to the hardware store, but just sitting in the shade with Maggie…it was the best time I'd had in a while. And she seemed perfectly content to let me rock the glider in the shade of a too-warm, sticky morning. We were both lulled by the stifling heat, the ice cold water, and the warm but refreshing breeze. But just after I drained my glass, I found myself saying,

"I should probably get out of your hair so you can finishing getting ready for your company."  
"Are you sure that arm is alright?" She asked, running her hand over the bandage when I crooked my arm to look at it.

"It's fine, Maggie," I said, rising. My back protested, and I fought the urge to stretch the kinks out, lest she think I was masking some other injury. It wasn't anything worse than I normally felt coming home from a long day, but she'd be sure to think it was the fall that had done it.

We walked through the house to the front door and stood looking at each other on the porch. I screwed up my courage and smiled down at her, wondering if the words would come or if they'd get stuck in my throat. "Maggie," I said, digging my keys out of my pocket. "I'd, uh, I'd like to take you out some time."

Seems like an excruciating eternity passed in the second it took for the smile to light up her face. "I'd like that, Darry," she answered, sounding almost shy now.

I nodded. "Well, I'd better work on that bid." I glanced up at the sky. Here at the front of the house, it was still a pristine blue. "Never know if that roof'll hold."

She looked up, too, but this time she didn't look worried. She looked relieved. "How about you come by around one?"

I nodded. "That'd be fine."

She stood on the porch watching me, only heading inside as I was pulling away from the curb. I caught myself grinning in the rear view mirror, and I know if Pony'd been with me he'd have caught me whistling again.

* * *


	21. Chapter 21

I didn't even need to turn around to know it was Two-Bit coming in the door. With Soda at work and then going out on a date and with Darry just leaving, I knew there was only one other real possibility left. So I called out to him absently as I worked the pencil over what had to be my fiftieth drawing of the Stovepipe.

"Hey, Pony," Two-Bit greeted, tossing his car keys on the coffee table. "What's shakin'?"

I grinned. He was as predictable as the heat wave was getting to be. "Nothing," I answered. "Darry's out giving a bid on a roof, and Soda's at work." _And I'm here, bored silly. _I wanted to sigh as he scooped up the deck of cards. If I had to play one more hand of cards with anyone, I was going to scream. I think he picked up on my thoughts, though, because he started dealing himself a hand of solitaire.

"Darry give Soda hell last night?" Two-Bit asked nonchalantly, flipping cards like he didn't care one way or another.

"Yeah," I winced and went back to my drawing. "He's over it now, though."

"I ran into him just now, thought he was gonna come at me or something, but he just gave me a wave and left."

I laughed. "Lucky for you, Darry's got his mind on Maggie."

Two-Bit grinned and looked up at me. "Soda mentioned something about that." He chuckled incredulously to himself. "So Mr. Muscles is interested in someone. It's about time."

He wasn't kidding. I couldn't remember how long it had been since Darry'd had a date. Except for last night, he'd been in a pretty good mood, too, ever since meeting her. I was all for anything that put Darry in a good mood.

It wasn't too long before Two-Bit got fidgety. He grew tired of solitaire and scooped up the cards again. He turned on the set, but after flipping through the stations about a dozen times, he gave up and turned it off. With a moan, he flopped down on the floor.

"This summer's been a real drag," he complained. "I've finally got money burning a hole in my pocket, and there's nothing worth spending it on!"

I grinned. "Maybe you're just becoming a tightwad. You'll be one of those Scrooge-y guys who's got money piled up to the ceiling but never wants to spend any." The picture that put in his head made Two-Bit chuckle.

"What do you mean by charging a dollar twenty-five for a movie ticket?" he growled. "Thirty three cents for a gallon of gas? Robbery!!!"

I laughed as he continued blustering. I gave up on the drawing. With Two-Bit around, you can't really concentrate on stuff. He won't let you. He'll just keep pestering and pestering until he's got your attention. You'd think nobody ever paid him a bit of mind at home, but I knew that wasn't true. His mother paid a lot of attention to him when she was home, though it was mostly to nag at him about chores or a bitter tirade about the fact that he was working for his father. She'd gone from nagging at him to get a job to nagging at him to quit his job. Normally, he gave in to her nagging, but this time, so far, he hadn't.

Two-Bit wound down eventually, and I caught him looking at me funny. When he realized I was looking back, he got to his feet. "I'm hungry," he announced. "Are you hungry?"

I shrugged. "I guess I could eat."

"Darry'll kill me if I eat anything here," Two-Bit said. He was probably right. Just the other day Darry was grumbling about the fact that we have too many extra mouths to feed lately. He'll get on a tear and the guys will be real careful to stay away around meal times for a while, and then somehow things always loosen up again until the next time Darry complains.

I shrugged. "He ain't here to notice."

Two-Bit shook his head. "That's okay. Put some shoes on," he said, stretching. "I'll buy you some lunch." He ignored the way my eyebrows rose. I didn't argue. I wasn't going to pass up the chance to get out of the house.

I figured he'd just drive us over to the Dairy Queen or something. But then he said he was taking me to a place with the best chili burgers in Tulsa, so I thought it would just be the Mercury Diner. We passed River Street without turning, though, so I gave up trying to figure out what he was doing. After we'd been driving for about fifteen minutes, though, I couldn't help but ask.

"Where the heck are we going, Two-Bit?" At this rate, we'd be in Sand Springs before he stopped the car.

"Cool your jets, Ponyboy, we're almost there," he replied. True to his word, in another minute, he was pulling into the crowded parking lot of a place called Fitzy's. "Man," he muttered, "they're packed." He wheeled the car around to the back of the building. There were a lot fewer cars back there. In fact, other than a pale yellow Cadillac, Two-Bit's was the only car there.

I wondered if there'd even be a place to sit inside, but there were three or four open booths scattered through the place. The Supremes were urging everyone to "Come See About Me" from the jukebox. Two-Bit punched my shoulder lightly and pointed to the booth farthest back. He likes to watch all the action, and that booth had the best view of the diner. I let him face the room and took the side that faced the bathrooms.

"When have you ever been here?" I asked. It was a soc place, and most folks who glanced up at us as we went by gave us looks I didn't like.

"The Nickel's just around the corner and down two blocks," Two-Bit said with a shrug. "I come down here for lunch sometimes. Best chili burgers in Tulsa." I was looking over the menu when I heard him say, "Hiya, Margie!"

I looked up to see a middle-aged redhead with a round face beaming down at us.

"Hi yaself, Two-Bit," she said. "Who's ya friend?" She talked like she was from New Jersey or someplace. I wondered how she ended up in Oklahoma.

"This here's Ponyboy."

She shook her head. "You kids and ya nicknames," she laughed. Neither one of us bothered to correct her. "Whada yous want?" Half a second later she pointed her finger at Two-Bit and said, "Nevahmind, I know what you want." She redirected her question at me. "Whada _you _want, Ponyboy?"

"Double bacon burger," I said after making sure it cost less than the chili burger. "Pepsi, if you have it."

"And if we don't?" She asked, her pencil poised above her pad.

"Coke?" I tried. She scribbled it down as she walked away. "Looks like you come here a lot," I said.

"Nah," Two-Bit said. "Margie's got some kind of super memory," he shook his head. "After the first time I told her my name, she remembered it. And she remembered what I ordered, too. If you walk back in here in three months, she'll know exactly who you are and what you want." I didn't argue that it was probably only the funny names that she'd remember.

He went on chattering about the food and about the Nickel until suddenly his expression changed. He was looking past me, toward the door. I turned to look, wondering what the deal was.

Cherry and Randy were just coming inside. I thought about Two-Bit's warning for me to stay away from "that Randy". Now here he was. I didn't turn around quick enough, and Cherry spotted me. She smiled, and although I turned back toward Two-Bit, I could tell by his face that she was headed our way. And that meant Randy was, too.

"Hey, Two-Bit, Ponyboy," she said.

"Hey, Cherry," I said. Two-Bit just nodded at her. He suddenly decided to inspect his silverware.

"What are you doing today?" she asked as Randy just gave us a nod and went off toward the bathrooms.

"Just having lunch," I shrugged. "What about you? Been out at the stables?"

She nodded. "Just finished."

That explained why she was wearing slacks. Cherry never wore them unless she was working with the horses. She was more a skirt and blouse sort of girl. I still couldn't get used to the sight of her in anything else.

"Well," she said awkwardly, somehow sensing Two-Bit's discomfort, "I'm just going to wash up for lunch. I'll see you around sometime, Ponyboy. Maybe you'll come by the stables again soon?"

I nodded. As soon as she was gone, I got on Two-Bit. "You didn't have to ignore her like that. Randy wasn't around."

"It's better if you stay away from all of that for now," he groused. "Besides, since when are Cherry and Randy a couple? What happened to Marcia?"

I shrugged. "It's not like that, Two-Bit. Marcia's folks have a cabin in the mountains. She's been there all summer." I waited a beat. "Since when do you want Randy dating Marcia, anyway? Seems to me you two hit it off pretty good that night at the drive-in."

He rolled his eyes, which told me I was right. He liked her. "What do I want with a socy girl like that?" He shook his head. "Kathy's about all I can handle, anyways."

From what I knew about Kathy, I figured that was true enough. She could be a real spitfire when she wanted. And it seemed like around Two-Bit, she wanted to a lot. I never saw a girl with such a temper. It was real funny, because she could be so nice and in the next breath she'd bite your head off as soon as smile at you.

Margie arrived with our plates. "Yous boys enjoy," she said. "Lemme know if ya needing anything else."

Two-Bit just nodded, already biting into the chili burger.

That first juicy bite of burger and cheese and crisp bacon almost had me moaning. It had been a long, long time since I'd had a burger that wasn't like rubber. The ones at camp were bland and chewy and not much like burgers at all. They got the French fries right, too. Crispy on the outside, creamy on the inside. Not the soggy mess I'd become accustomed to over the last month.

We didn't have much to say to each other since Two-Bit had been coming over more than usual lately. I figured it was just Darry and Soda's way of keeping an eye on me when they weren't around. It bugged me, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. So we ate in silence. I watched people come and go through the window. The diner was thinning out a little, the worst of the lunch rush over.

Two-Bit decided he wanted a piece of pie, and he told me I could get something, too, but I was pretty stuffed already. He was just starting on the pie when Margie put the bill down on the table. Two-Bit went for his back pocket. "Shoot," he said, putting his fork down. "I must've left it in the glove box."

I shook my head. "One of these days, Two-Bit, someone's gonna steal your wallet right out of your car."

He put his keys on the table. "Go get it for me, will ya?"

I nodded and got up. As I made my way toward the door, Cherry and Randy were just getting up. I was surprised they'd finished already, seeing as how they'd come in after we had. Then again, it took Margie a few minutes to get Two-Bit's dessert. Cherry smiled at me and headed past me toward the bathrooms again. Randy called to her that he'd be out in the car.

He nodded at me. I hoped Two-Bit wasn't looking, because it would look like I was walking with Randy to the door. And while I was walking and Randy was walking, we weren't especially walking together.

"Two-Bit forgot his wallet in the car," I said. Randy smirked. I realized, then, that he thought we were going to duck out on the bill. "I'm just getting it for him," I said lamely, holding up the keys. What the heck did I care what he thought? But I did.

We fell in step again outside, and Randy mentioned that he and Cherry were parked out behind the place, too. "I thought I recognized the car," he said.

I was swinging Two-Bit's keys and dropped them by accident. Randy kept going to the parking lot. I heard a sharp cry of surprise. When I made it around the back side of the building, some guy had Randy's arm up behind him so high I thought it'd snap. In the next instant, Randy was shoved into an old jalopy of a car with mismatched quarter panels and a primer paint job. The big guy who'd shoved him in was rounding toward the front passenger door.

I turned to hi-tail it back into the diner, thinking how I'd better tell someone Randy was in trouble. I tripped over a parking block, though, and that got the big guy's attention. I scrambled to my feet and was just running toward the front when he caught me. For a big guy, he moved fast. And then I realized as he hauled me backward by my ankle that he was the stable hand with the Helsden t-shirt. They must've followed Cherry and Randy from the stables.

"Two-Bit!!" I hollered, though I didn't figure he'd be able to hear me over the noise of the jukebox and ordinary diner clatter.

He had _my _arm up behind me so high I was sure that either it would break or my shoulder would pop out like it had at camp. "Shut up!" the guy growled at me, turning backward and dragging me to the car when I refused to walk. He had my arm so good I couldn't move. My whole body went rigid as he tried to stuff me into the backseat with Randy, who I could see was now taped up, courtesy of a third guy who was in the backseat with him.

"Hurry up!" the one behind the wheel yelled.

"Kid," the big guy said, "you don't settle down, you're not gonna like the paybacks later…"

I ignored him. Somehow, I knew, if I got stuck in this mess I might never come out. If they got me in the car, I could pretty much guarantee I'd never see my brothers again. My throat closed up, and I felt tears trying to start. There was a stinging in my eyes, but then my stomach clenched and every muscle locked.

_Don't let go._

My hands clenched into fists and my jaw clamped tightly shut. If I had time to think about anything, I might have wondered just what the heck those words that flashed in my head meant. _Don't let go. _But then the big guy shoved me forward and my head knocked against the roof of the car, and I saw stars. My knees unlocked just enough for him to shove me in the backseat.

He closed the door, but it didn't catch. And then I heard his footsteps around the side of the car as he jumped into the shotgun seat. As the tires squealed us out of the lot and onto the street, my head cleared a little and I realized the guy beside me was taping my wrists.

I elbowed him, and I kicked at him. I couldn't land the blow from that angle, though. He swore viciously and managed to slap a piece of tape over my mouth before I elbowed him again. I felt bad for Randy, trapped on the other side of him, getting jabbed by the guy as he defended himself against me and tried to get some tape on my feet. _No! NoNoNoNo_, my mind chanted. _If he gets the tape on, you're toast._

The car slowed for a stop light, and I threw all my weight against the door, pulling the handle with my taped hands. I lunged out, nearly fell on the asphalt, and then I just ran blindly in the opposite direction of the car, ignoring the protest from my knee and the indignant honking and squealing brakes of the other cars. I didn't look back, just kept running with those same strange words thundering in my head until they blended together...

_Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo._


	22. Chapter 22

_Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo._

Those crazy words were still ringing in my head as I closed out the first block. My right leg was killing me, pain shooting down from my knee to my foot and up from my knee a few inches. I couldn't breathe fast enough through my nose to keep up with my body's demand for oxygen. The world spun crazily, and I dropped to the sidewalk. I reached up and grabbed at the tape on my mouth, distantly registering the sound of tires squealing.

_Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. _

I closed my eyes and fervently hoped it wasn't them coming back for me, because I'd only gotten the tape about half off, and I was already greedily sucking air.

"Son? Are you alright?" A man was asking. He looked down at me, and I squinted up at him until he shifted a little and blocked out the sun. Another man, this one older, knelt down and helped me sit up as I struggled at it.

"What on earth happened to you?"

I yanked the tape the rest of the way off my mouth and used my mouth to tug at the tape on my hands, but the older man gently pulled my wrists away from my mouth.

"Easy, now, son. We'll get that stuff off of you. Henry, have you got your utility knife?"

Other cars were stopping, and a couple of people emerged from stores along the other side of the street to see what was going on. I felt something warm slide down my face and the throbbing sting of an angry scrape on my cheek.

"I've gotta get back to the diner…" I gasped. "Fitzy's diner," I said, trying to get up. It was impossible with my hands still taped together and with the old guy pressing a hand to my shoulder to keep me down.

"Take it easy, son," he said. "You took quite a spill there."

"Looks like he hit his head," the one called Henry said, sawing at the tape with this pathetic Swiss Army knife. But it worked just enough that he was able to get it started, and I rolled my wrists around until I'd torn it off enough to get one hand free. Then I tore the tape off the other wrist. They both protested as I scrambled to my feet, and they both reached for me, trying to get me to sit back down.

"I need to go," I panted. "I've gotta get back to Fitzy's." I started an odd sort of limping walk-run type of thing, and the two good Samaritans each grabbed my by an arm.

"Son, you really need to just relax," the older one said. "Someone needs to take a look at you."

"No," I shook my head. "I'm okay. My friend Randy, he needs help. I have to go," I repeated, jerking first one arm and then the other free. Having caught my breath, I started into a jog again, but after hitting the sidewalk, I couldn't get up the speed I needed to push past the pain in my right leg.

"Okay, son, okay," the older man said as he and Henry easily got in front of me, blocking my path.

I felt tears pricking at my eyes again, and again my body went rigid, my jaw clamping down so hard my teeth hurt. _Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo._

"Look, son, we'll take you to the diner. We'll take you there and get you some help."

I had no choice but to trust that they'd really take me there. I didn't want to. But I couldn't get past them, and their worry wouldn't allow them to just let some weird kid go on his way after what they'd observed. Still with those crazy words in my head, I let them lead me back to their car. I obediently got in the back and let them shut the door.

Much to my relief, they kept their word and turned into the back lot when I asked them to. I had the door open practically before they stopped. Two-Bit, who was pacing the lot, charged at me like a cannonball.

"Pony, where the hell have you been?!"

Cherry's face went white. I think she realized what had happened before I even got it out of my mouth. The two men took charge and ordered us all inside the diner. They called the police. Two-Bit and I never would have. Not willingly. Except I guess one of us would have had to, to tell them about Randy.

Things happened in a blur. Two-Bit asked Margie for some ice and a wet cloth, Henry called the police, and Cherry just stood nearby, crying, as the old man tried to comfort her. Every person in the place was gaping at us, at me in particular. I was getting a doozy of a headache and was in no mood to be the dinner show.

"Can we wait outside?" I asked. Not a damn person listened to me. Two-Bit just pressed the wet cloth Margie gave him to my cheek. I put my own hand on the cloth, brushing him aside. I tried to explain about the car, about the guys that took Randy, but nobody would listen. I think Cherry did, but she was crying too hard to talk to anyone.

It seemed to take forever for the fuzz to show, though it was probably only a few minutes. For the first time in my life, I was glad to see them because they saw the rapt audience we had and suggested we go over the details outside. Though Henry protested, I led the way to the back lot, explaining the whole way about Randy and I walking to our respective cars, dropping the keys, hearing him cry out, and then the two of us getting shoved into the car. The getaway car had left behind some good rubber, and the cops used some traffic cones they pulled from the trunk of their squad car to block off the area.

Two-Bit just stood pacing nearby, never taking his eyes off of me. When the cops asked him what he saw, he told them all he saw were his keys lying on the ground and me and Randy nowhere in sight. He didn't know what the hell happened, except that we weren't there and should have been and it didn't take a genius to realize that something bad had happened, what with Mr. Adderson being public enemy number one just now.

The two men who helped me explained how they'd seen this crazed looking kid–me–barreling down the sidewalk, and just as he was drawing almost even with their car, just as they realized his wrists were bound together and his mouth was taped, he hit the ground like a ton of bricks. They couldn't just leave him there, a young kid like that, so they stopped to help. The cops thanked them for their help and let them go once they confirmed that they didn't see anything else and didn't know anything else about the situation.

Two-Bit was still pacing, rubbing the back of his head and watching us all nervously. I knew he was wondering how he was going to explain all this to Darry. I was starting to wonder the same thing, myself.

Cherry told the fuzz the same story, how she came up behind Two-Bit, how he was looking freaked out. They asked each other what was going on, and neither of them knew. Just when they'd decided to go back inside and call for help, they saw a car turning into the parking lot. A few seconds later, I popped out of the backseat.

The cops kept asking me if I was alright, if I needed a doctor, if I was hurting anywhere. Then they asked me where my parents were. When they found out I didn't have anyone but Darry and Soda, they exchanged a look. I wondered what it meant. They wanted my phone number.

I shook my head. "My brothers aren't home. Soda's at work, and Darry's out."

Two-Bit piped in that they could call the DX to talk to Soda. They said that was fine, but I'd need Darry to pick me up at the station since he was the only one over eighteen.

"_I'm _over eighteen," Two-Bit nearly whined. I knew he what he was thinking. Darry was gonna blame him, even though it wasn't anyone's fault.

"Are you related?"

He sighed. "Man, close enough!"

The cop shook his head. "I'm sorry, sir. We can only release him to a legal guardian."

Yep. That's Darry. I sighed, too. I sure didn't want Two-Bit catching any heat over it. Darry was likely to pound on him first, though, and ask questions later.

I couldn't get them to change their minds, and I ended up in the back of the squad car with Cherry, because she wasn't eighteen, either. Two-Bit followed behind us. I felt real bad for Cherry. She'd stopped crying, but she looked just awful. I knew she couldn't really believe what had happened.

"I didn't realize things were so…bad," she said softly. "You know, with Randy."

I laid my head back against the seat and closed my eyes, trying not to think about how Darry was going to lose his mind when he found out. I'd be lucky if I ever got to leave the house again. I sighed. "His father cheated a lot of people out of their retirement money. A lot of them are greasers," I added wearily. "There isn't any way to get the money back, so they're looking for revenge."

She began to cry again. I felt really bad for that, like it was my fault. Maybe I'd been a little too blunt. But I was just too tired and sore to care. And I was sure as hell worried about what Darry was gonna do to Two-Bit. I knew he'd blame him for driving us all the way across town to a soc diner when we could have just stayed in our territory and been perfectly fine.

* * *

"Hey, Soda!" Steve called.

I turned from the pump to look at him.

"Phone!" Steve said.

"Hang on!" I yelled back. Whoever it was could wait. I had me a pretty girl just itching to get to know me better. I might even be able to get her–

"Soda," Steve was coming up beside me now. "You need to take this call," he said.

"Who is it? Darry?" What could be so important? Couldn't he see I was working on something here?

"Two-Bit," Steve answered. "He's at the police station. Ponyboy's with him."

I had the phone in my hand in two seconds flat. "Pony?!" I shouted into the mouthpiece.

"Soda, you gotta find Darry," Two-Bit said. He sounded sort of wild, and my heart froze in my chest.

"Where's Pony?"

"He's okay, Soda, but they won't let him go unless Darry comes in to pick him up."

"What did he do?" This was so wrong. Pony's a good kid, he wouldn't make trouble like that, not with the hearing next month. Not after what we'd done the other night, what with Darry having such a fit.

"He didn't do anything. It's my fault," Two-Bit's voice cracked. "You just…you gotta find Darry and get him down here…"

"What happened, Two-Bit?" I demanded. Two-Bit wouldn't lose his cool in front of the police for anything small. This was big. Real big. I wondered if he was lying to me, if Ponyboy wasn't okay. "Let me talk to Pony," I cut him off as he started babbling about taking Pony out for lunch.

I heard a lot of rustling around and some whispering, but I couldn't make out the words. And then Pony's voice crackled over the line, and I could swallow the lump in my throat.

"Soda," he said, "Everything's okay. I'm okay. It's just Two-Bit and I ran into Randy and Cherry at this diner, and some guys forced him into their car. I ran to get help, and they noticed me and grabbed me, too, but I got away and some guys called the police and now I'm stuck here unless Darry comes and gets me."

"I'm coming, Ponyboy," I halfway shouted into the phone. And then I hung up and dialed home. Nobody answered.

"You okay, buddy?" Steve asked, looking at me evenly.

I shook my head. "I gotta find Darry," I told him, barging into the Ace to tell Buck I had to leave. Steve followed me.

"What's going on? Why are they at the police station? What happened?"

I babbled the story to him and Buck both at once. I thought Buck was going to flip a gasket, but he just said I'd better get going. "Steve, I–"

He was already pressing his car keys in my hand. "I'll call the girls and tell them we can't make it tonight," he said, following me out to his car. Lord, I hadn't even thought about that. I was glad he had.

"If Darry stops by, you tell him to go to the 4th Street station."

Steve just nodded. He didn't even lecture me on being careful, watching my speed. It wouldn't do any good, and he knew it. I peeled out of the DX, checking the address Steve hastily scrawled on a piece of paper. 918 Summerland. Maggie's house, where Darry was supposed to be looking at her roof. I wasn't sure he'd still be there, but maybe he mentioned something about where he was going. If that didn't work, I'd try home again. If that didn't work, I didn't know what the hell I was gonna do.


	23. Chapter 23

It seemed like we sat in that police station forever. Here I'd been complaining about being so bored at home, but now I wanted nothing more than to be flat on my back on the sofa with some aspirin and some ice. My head was throbbing and my knee was aching, and I didn't know whether it was from the exertion or if I'd made it worse, which was just another thing Darry was going to be teed off about.

Two-Bit sat miserably beside me, silent and still for probably the first time in his life. I could feel his dread like a living thing in the room with us. Cherry'd stopped crying. She looked small, hunched over into herself, her hair hiding her face. None of us said a word to each other. We just sat thinking our separate thoughts. For Cherry and me, some of those thoughts were probably the same. I was worried about Randy, about what they were going to do to him and whether it would be too late to help him. I tried to feel better about getting away, because at least now the cops knew that a couple of stable hands and a third guy I hadn't seen before were responsible. And they knew about the car, though everything happened so quickly I'd been unable to get the make, model or plate number.

Cherry's parents came right away, looking terribly worried. Her mother was crying, and her father's face was lined with concern. They huddled with the officers who brought us here, and it felt like they talked for a long time. I saw both of them glance our way, their eyes resting on me briefly before darting back to Cherry. Then they came over and collected her. She started to cry again, and her mother and father each put an arm around her and made consoling noises as they led her out of the station.

I wished there was a clock around someplace. It felt like we'd been there forever, but sometimes when time feels like that only a few minutes actually pass by.

"Soda!" Two-Bit cried, leaping to his feet.

My whole body went rigid again, and without warning that strange loop of words flooded my head: _Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. _I almost started to murmur them, but my jaw was too tense. And then another set of words, new words, took their place. _Stay blank. Stay blank. Stayblankstayblankstayblank. _

Soda ignored Two-Bit and just wrapped his arms around me for a few seconds. Then he seemed to remember where he was and pushed me back, taking me in. I watched his eyes land on the ugly scrape on my cheek, and his fingers wandered up to gently touch the angry lump on my crown where I'd smacked the roof of the car.

"Pony," he sighed, shaking his head. "I've been all over looking for Darry. Can't find him anywhere. He'll show up at home eventually, I guess, but they won't let me take you home."

So he sat with us, fidgeting like crazy though he managed not to talk. Every so often the cops used our phone number to try the house even though Soda begged them to let him be the one to call. Instead, we had no idea they'd made contact until what seemed like a couple hours later when Darry came bursting into the station with blood in his eyes. The police brought him back behind the counter, where we were sitting in a corner. To our surprise, they took him straight past us and deeper into the station, where none of us had gone.

I worried crazily that they'd somehow decided he wasn't a good parent and were putting him in jail for not keeping a better eye out on me and Soda. I knew they wouldn't do that, but my imagination went all sorts of weird places as I sat there, much like Two-Bit, with a feeling of dread.

It felt like ages had passed when he finally came out. He didn't look at us, just said flatly, "Let's go."

Stepping out of the police station, I was surprised to see how late in the day it was, judging by the look of the sun in the sky. I'd put it around four-thirty or so, and seeing as how it had been just after noon when Two-Bit and I stepped into Fitzy's, I was startled to find out that the reason time seemed to stretch out into hours in the police station was because it really _had _been hours.

Outside, he turned to Two-Bit. "You follow us, hear? I want to talk to you."

Two-Bit went sheet white, and I'd swear tears came to his eyes, but he nodded. Then Darry put one hand on the back of my neck and one hand on the back of Soda's and gave us both a little shove to get us moving.

It was dead silent in the truck on the drive home. I couldn't tell what Darry was feeling, and that scared me more than anything. He had to be mad, but he was so…calm. I was next to him in the truck, and normally if I'm that close to him I can sort of feel him all tensed up, his muscles tight. But he wasn't all wound up.

Off handedly, I noticed a bandage on the back of his forearm and busied myself wondering why it was there. Anything was better than waiting for that other shoe to drop. But I noticed he didn't drive too fast, the way he always did when he was angry. Like he had the other night leaving the Bottler's Grudge. He just drove steadily home. I could see in the rear view that Two-Bit tailed us all the way, and I knew he had to be half crazy. Following us to our place had to feel like being on death row, taking that last walk---the one that led to the chair.

As soon as we pulled up alongside the house, he ordered, "Ponyboy, go get cleaned up and wrap up your knee."

I looked at myself and realized I was sort of dusty and blackened from the parking lot and from the sidewalk. Soda got out of the truck to let me out, but I noticed as I made my way inside that Darry hadn't moved. He was still just sitting behind the wheel.

I watched them for about a half second, but I knew Darry was watching me head into the house. I tried not to limp too heavily, but there wasn't any way to stop it. My leg was tired. It had that shaky, overused feeling.

I took advantage of the fact that Darry seemed to be taking his time coming in. I grabbed four aspirin and slugged them down with a couple swallows of milk before heading to the bedroom to get some clean clothes.

I got into the shower, but I could swear I heard Darry yelling even from under the spray. Not his words, just his tone. Or maybe I was imagining it. But I don't think so. I know the sound of his voice, and I especially know the sound of him yelling. I wondered then how much longer I could reasonably stay in the shower, without him turning all that yelling on me.

* * *

Man, the whole thing was like a bad movie. A rich kid gets kidnapped, and a poor kid from the wrong side of the tracks gets mixed into it…I shook my head. Unreal. After Ponyboy ducked into the house, Darry got out and paced the yard until Two-Bit got out of his car to face the music. I just stood watching in horror as Darry hauled off and decked Two-Bit, knocking him flat on his back on the lawn. He'd hit Steve before once, but that was the only other member of our gang he'd ever laid a hand on besides Ponyboy that time.

Darry sure hollered at Two-Bit, too. He just yelled and yelled, right there in the front yard. If I thought I got it bad last night…well, it was nothing compared to what Two-Bit was getting. Two-Bit sat up but kept his eyes on the ground. And he was smart enough to stay down, just nodding in agreement with everything Darry shouted at him. He was an idiot for taking Ponyboy to some soc diner, what with everything going on. They could have run into _anyone_ in that place, like those guys from the other night, for instance. Did he think of that? Heck, no. Did he clear out of the place as soon as Randy came in? Heck, no. Did he see Pony and Randy leaving the place together? Sure did. Did he think that was a good idea? Did he think it was a good idea to send Pony out after his wallet all alone? Glory, Two-Bit, I've never known you to be so damn lacking in common sense before! And on and on and on.

I tried to help. I mean, what were the chances they'd even run into Cherry and Randy at all, soc diner or not? There were dozens of places the socs liked to hang out. But Darry just hollered at me to go inside and mind my own business. He seemed to realize there was nothing he could blame me for this time. I'd been at work, after all, minding my own business until Two-Bit called.

I heard a lot of the rest, but I didn't see what happened. I just kept an ear out for Pony, who was in the shower, and tried to listen to the end of Darry's tirade. He threw in some stuff about the mess last night at Bottler's Grudge, and he went on about how Pony was at the end of his goddamn rope as it was and how dare Two-Bit let him get mixed up in the middle of all of this crap with the Addersons, on top of everything else.

Two-Bit finally shouted back at Darry, though I bet he was shaking in his shoes as he did it. I peeked out the window and saw that he'd gotten to his feet and that his hands were flying all over the place as he swore up and down that anybody'd tell Darry that he'd told Ponyboy to stay away from that Randy. More than once, even. And it was true. He'd said it right in front of me and Steve one time.

Then Ponyboy came out of the bathroom, his eyes darting toward the front of the house. He was limping worse than before. Just another thing for Darry to be mad at. I started to get him some aspirin, but he said he already took some.

"How bad is it?" Ponyboy asked, his forehead ridging up with worry.

"Aw," I said half-heartedly, "you know Darry. He bawled Two-Bit out, but he'll be okay in a couple days."

"Are they still out there?" he asked, trying to look out the door. I nodded.

"C'mon, Pony. Darry'll be mad if he catches us listening in," I said, turning on the TV. As soon as I saw what was on, though, I flipped it off again. Darry'd have a fit if he had to listen to reruns of what had been going on all afternoon. "Let's get dinner started," I suggested.

Ponyboy just nodded and followed me to the kitchen. We stood looking in the cabinets and in the icebox for a few seconds before we turned to each other and said, "Spaghetti."

We grinned at the same time, and I tried to rub his head but he ducked.

"Knock it off," he groused, but then he chuckled so I knew he was only half-serious.

"Did you see any hamburger in there?" I asked, dumping two large cans of tomato sauce into a pot.

"Nah, we're out," he said, putting a pot of water on the stove to boil. He jumped about a foot as Darry came up behind us and ordered,

"Pony, get off that knee."

"Yessir," he said, and turned quickly for the living room. Even limping, he was through the doorway in a flash.

Darry froze and closed his eyes. My stomach knotted up at the desperation that flickered there for a second. It vanished quickly, and he didn't say a word to Pony about it. I knew he wanted to. I couldn't blame him. He'd yessired me in the bathroom the other morning, and I'd been torn between wanting to bawl my head off and wanting to smack him upside his. But it wasn't his fault, and I knew it. Darry knew it, too, which is why he got so frustrated.

"Soda, take this to Pony," Darry ordered, and I looked up from the sauce I was stirring. "And give this to Two-Bit."

I looked at him, surprised. He just stared back flatly, though, so I took both towels of ice.

"Sure thing," I said, and carried the towels out to the living room just in time to see Steve coming in. I shook my head at him, and he backed up toward the door, but it was too late. Darry, who didn't know Pony had already taken some aspirin, was just bringing some out.

I thought sure he was gonna blow his top, but he just sighed and took the aspirin back to the kitchen when Ponyboy said he'd already had some. Man, what a three ring circus it all was. Now I had two people not acting like themselves…Pony _and _Darry. Why hadn't he told Two-Bit to go home and not show his face for a week? But he hadn't. Two-Bit was sitting at the other end of the sofa, Pony's feet across his lap. I handed the towels to him, and he sat one on Pony's knee and held the other against the left side of his jaw, which was already swelling up from Darry's right hook.

Steve looked around at us all and said quietly, "It's all over the news about that Adderson kid. The police still haven't found him. Newscaster said someone called in a ransom demand. Didn't say how much," he shrugged.

I gave Steve a warning look. But it's not like Pony wouldn't have heard it eventually, anyway. Pony rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. It reminded me of Darry.

I kept waiting for Darry to clear out the house, but he didn't. He just barked at me to set the table, so I did. There'd never been so many people at our table before with the room so quiet. All there was were sounds of forks scritching against plates, the sounds of chewing and swallowing, and the thunk of glasses being set down. Just as much as I wondered why Darry didn't kick everyone out, I wondered why Two-Bit and Steve stayed, why they didn't creep out of the house intent on staying out of Darry's way until the mood passed.

I did the dishes while everyone else passed back into the living room. Darry sat at the table with a tablet and the calculator, trying to work on that roof bid. He sighed a lot, and when he wasn't looking, I peeked at him. He rubbed his neck a lot, and he pushed his hand through his hair like he does when he's irritated.

Finally, he threw down the pencil and shoved away from the table. A few minutes later, as I was rubbing the sponge over the stovetop, I heard the shower tap creak open. It was only then that the guys said two words to one another, and even then they only started a game of blackjack.

Tim came barging in, though, straight from his shift at the plant. "Kid, what the hell did you get into this time?" were the first words out of his mouth. No one argued when he flipped on the TV. Instead, curious as all hell, they all leaned forward to watch the news reports. It was a bad, bad idea, but I crept in there to watch, too, listening for Darry with one ear and to the reporters with the other.

"…an unidentified teenage boy managed to escape from the vehicle. Police responded to the scene and questioned all of the youths involved before releasing them to their families. Meanwhile, the search for Randall Adderson continues…"

After they showed some commercials, the newscaster came back on, talking gravely about the Adderson scandal. They put Mr. Adderson on screen. He stood behind a podium and he begged whoever it was that took Randy to release him unharmed, not to punish him for the mistakes of others. It was stiff and rehearsed, and I doubted anybody would have much sympathy for the guy, but I sure wasn't about to say that in front of Pony.

Guess I lost track of Darry, though, because he stomped into the room, his hair dripping all over the fresh shirt he'd put on, and he turned off the set with a violent twist of his wrist. "Pony," he said loudly, "just leave it alone!"

Pony looked up at him, bewildered. "Darry, I–"

"I told you to stay the hell away from that kid, didn't I?" Darry snapped. Pony got up from the couch and started to say something, but Darry cut him off again. "Why do you have to go looking for trouble? You've got enough trouble, dammit! And I can't handle any more insanity, Ponyboy. We're up to our goddamn ears already!"

Pony flinched, and then his face closed down like a tourist town at summer's end. The rest of us just looked at each other in slack-jawed horror. All along, Darry'd been the one telling us how Dr. Joseph said that Ponyboy needed to feel like he was okay. Now he'd gone and made it perfectly clear to Pony that he didn't think he was okay at all.

Darry's face flashed regret. "Pony," he sighed, rubbing his hands over his face, "that's not what I meant."

But Ponyboy just turned and walked out the screen door. I looked at Darry, wanting to tell him off for what he said, but he looked so helpless and so sorry that I didn't have the heart. He stomped back out of the room, and Two-Bit, Steve, and I all flinched when his bedroom door slammed, even though we'd been waiting for it.

I was sure Pony'd be crying on the ratty old sofa in the corner of the porch. But he was standing at the rail, leaning on his elbows. There was no expression on his face at all. Just blank. His eyes weren't wet, and he wasn't shaking. He was silent, but he was pretty quiet these days, anyhow. More so than usual.

"Pony," I said, flinging an arm around his shoulder, "he didn't mean it like that. He meant _things _are crazy enough around here right now."

He didn't answer me, just watched the sky for a few minutes. Then he said softly, "I'm tired. I'm gonna take my pill and go to bed."

It was barely eight o' clock.


	24. Chapter 24

_

* * *

_

Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo.

But I couldn't hold on any longer, couldn't keep it down…

I gasped and sat up, my heart hammering in my chest. My whole body hurt, and I knew I'd gone rigid in my sleep. Those words…they were still a menacing whisper in the back of my mind, fading but still there. Seemed like they never really went away after the first time. They were a constant chatter under everything else, sort of like the whir of a table fan.

The moon was shining brightly. I guess the storm clouds blew away. As I glanced over at Soda and saw him still sleeping, I flopped back down on my bed. I didn't know what it meant, that _Don't let go._ Don't let go of what?

I puzzled over it until my heart eased back into a lazy rhythm and I fell back asleep.

* * *

Two fourteen. Seems like I was waking every hour. Waking and listening to the silence in the house, to see if it changed. Waiting to hear a rustling or a bump. Something to warn me that Pony was restless. Something to warn me that whatever was eating at him had roused him from bed. What was it? What the hell was it?

I thought about what the officer had said about how the two men who stopped to help Pony heard him sort of chanting to himself under his breath. Don't let go. Over and over, don't let go. I wondered what it meant. One thing's for sure, though. It was the answer to everything that was plaguing him.

I remembered blowing up at him over the news show and rubbed my forehead with my hand as if to erase the throbbing underneath. It hadn't been smart, going to that diner, but Two-Bit was right. This thing with Randy…no one could have seen that coming. The kidnapping, sure. But Ponyboy being in the worst possible place at the worst time…you can't foresee that. Still, going to a place like that was asking for trouble, even if you didn't know what kind you were asking for.

I sighed. Two-Bit would be okay. Two-Bit wasn't the problem.

I can't believe I ever stood in that field, watching Ponyboy stand tall after being bound, gagged, blindfolded, and dumped some sixty miles from camp, thinking it had been a good thing in some ways. Thinking he'd learned to take care of himself, to use his head a little more. He did learn lessons, but I'm no longer sure that the price wasn't too high.

When I ask him to do something these days, instead of rolling his eyes, he just does it with a 'yes, sir' and no lip. It's automatic, like sneezing. He can't help it. But it bothers me. It's just another symptom of this thing we can't get out of him. What happened to him out there in New Mexico? What is it he's not telling us? If he doesn't want to talk to me, why not Soda, then?

I thought about when Johnny died, how Ponyboy tried to convince himself it hadn't happened. He went around saying he killed Bob. If I thought that was terrifying, it was nothing on this.

The pills weren't working. Whatever it was that was bothering Ponyboy was bigger and stronger than anything those pills could cure. It wasn't that I thought Dr. Joseph was wrong. What he said made sense. But it was like he said. He's not a psychiatrist, not a psychologist. I wondered if he'd know one, though, that he could send us to. It was time. It was past time. I just hoped the next guy could do more to help Ponyboy than the last guy had done. Or maybe I was just asking too much. Maybe never having another nightmare wasn't possible.

That was the thing, though. I didn't just want part of Ponyboy back from camp. I didn't want to settle for seeing him _sometimes_. At first, I thought maybe that expressionless face he was walking around with most of the time was a good thing. Like maybe he'd just learned to control his emotions better and not let everything show. Nothing wrong with that, right? Good way not to get stomped all over by life. But if I'd just escaped from a car full of thugs, I'm sure I'd look rattled. Yet the cop said those guys told him Pony looked sort of odd. They thought maybe he wasn't all there. He seemed dazed. They even wondered if he'd been given some kind of drug. It wasn't that he wasn't worked up…his voice was pretty desperate, and his words were urgent, they said. But his face didn't match.

I thought and thought about those words (Don't let go), trying to figure out what they meant. I thought about that mountain and wondered if something happened there. Pony'd mentioned they'd scaled it to cut their walk down. Did he have a close call? The more I thought about it, the more it seemed possible. If you were about to fall, wouldn't you be saying that over and over again? Don't let go. Don't let go. Don't let go. But it didn't explain why Pony would say it after escaping from that car, though. I dozed off trying to make the pieces fit.

* * *

First thing I did when the alarm went off was look over at Pony. He didn't even stir as I slapped some silence into the room. I'd slept so hard I didn't know what day it was. Saturday? No. Sunday. Well, hell. Why'd I set the alarm? I don't have to be at work until noon.

But now that I was awake, I couldn't help remembering last night. Pony went to bed so early, you'd think he'd be up by now. I looked over at him again. That lump on his head was an ugly purple-y black. It wasn't his head, was it, that was keeping him asleep so long?

That did it. No way I was going back to sleep now. _Dummy, _I thought. _You'll be regretting this later when you don't have Stevie to keep your eyelids up. _

I wondered if I should try to wake him. Darry'd say let him sleep. Was Darry up? I rolled off the bed to go find out. I almost didn't want to check, just like I didn't want to check yesterday when I got up. He sure was mad again last night.

The living room and kitchen were empty. No Darry. The tablet, pencil, and calculator were still on the table where he'd left them. I peeked at the neat columns of figures. Roofing supplies, I knew, but it might as well have been some other language. Man. Just when he was starting to get interested in a girl, too. All this mess would probably have him all business again. He'd give her the bid, and maybe he'd get the job. But I'll bet he won't whistle anymore. That stinks.

I looked up to see Darry watching me from the doorway. He looked like he hadn't slept all night. I waited for him to say something, but he just yawned hugely and scratched his chest.

He didn't say a word until he'd put the coffee on.

"I'm supposed to go by Maggie's place today around one to give her the bid," he yawned again and shook his head. "I don't know," he sighed. I knew he was thinking I'd be at work and that he didn't want to leave Pony alone. I wanted to argue that he wasn't a baby anymore, but it wouldn't hold much weight, what with everything that's been going on lately. And besides, it isn't Pony's age that's the problem. Its…him.

I felt guilty thinking that. Pony was having such a hard time, but I knew it bugged him that we were all so worried. I knew he felt like we were treating him like a little kid, watching him so closely. And it also bugged me that he wasn't talking to me. He _always_ talked to me. He kept swearing up and down that there wasn't anything to talk about, but there had to be, didn't there? So why wasn't he telling me about it?

Last night I followed him to our room after he took his pill, and I sat on my bed and waited in case he wanted to talk. But he didn't say a word, just pulled off his shirt and his jeans and flopped in bed, tugging the corner of the sheet up so it covered his underwear but left his feet and his torso bare.

"Pony," I said, almost whining, "it's just me. C'mon," I said. "You can talk about it. We'll work it out, just like we always do."

He just rolled his head to the side to look at me. "Do you think they'll find him?" he asked. "Randy, I mean?"

I sighed. "This ain't about Randy, Ponyboy."

He ignored me. "Man, I know I've seen that car somewhere before. Before today," he added, turning his head to look up at the ceiling. "Maybe it would help them find him if I could remember more about the car."

"Pony…" I tried again. But he just rolled over toward the window. He didn't answer, and in a few more minutes I could tell by his breathing that he was asleep.

"Hey!" Darry slapped my shoulder, and I startled. I looked up at him. "What's on your mind?"

"Pony," I said, meeting his eyes. "What else?"

He nodded. "I was up half the night thinking about it. I think it's time we take him to see someone." I guess he saw my face. "I don't like it, either, Soda, but giving him time isn't cutting it. You know it as well as I do."

I did. Didn't mean I liked it. "You ain't gonna take him back to that last guy, are you?"

"No. I thought I'd ask Dr. Joseph if he knows anyone."

"That might be okay," I agreed. "Pony likes him alright. Maybe he won't drag his feet so much if it's a friend of Dr. Joseph's."

"That's what I was thinking," Darry admitted, poking around in the cupboard. He pulled out the oatmeal but then put it back and pulled out a box of cereal. It sure sounded better than anything hot. It was only seven, and I was already sweating up a storm.

We munched on spoonfuls of shredded wheat. Darry asked if I'd be home after work. "I reckon," I said. "Unless Steve talks the girls into trying that picnic at the river tonight. He said Evie was pretty mad when he cancelled at the last minute."

Darry gave a sort of half laugh. "Now you'll have to really sweet talk them, huh?"

I grinned. "Yeah. That's okay. I'm good at it."

"Too good," Darry agreed absently, looking at the tablet now. There was no sense trying to have a conversation with him. I finished my cereal and put my bowl in the sink.

"I'm going to get a shower," I said.

He lifted his head. "Did he get up last night?"

"Nah," I said, though I wasn't really sure. I'd been out like a light.

"I didn't hear him," Darry agreed. "And I was up half the night."

"I can tell." I was just about to go when I noticed the bandage on his arm. "Hey," I said, grabbing the pencil out of his left hand and tapping it on the gauze pad on his right forearm, "Where'd you get that?"

"Oh," he seemed surprised, like he'd forgotten all about it. "I slipped and fell off Maggie's roof. Guess I caught it on the way down."

I grinned. "Thinking about the right things at the wrong time?"

He went red as Ponyboy does when you hint at things. "Something like that," he laughed sheepishly.

Well, well. Maybe things hadn't completely derailed yet. Maybe he'd find the time and the energy to go courtin' after all. I held onto that idea as I got into the shower. It was sure more fun to think about than anything else around here lately.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry. Not trying to tease y'all. Not intentionally, anyway. But there's always a lull before the storm, right? LOL**


	25. Chapter 25

Pulling up to Maggie's house was a little bit like stepping off the plane in St. Louis. Everything from home just sort of faded to the background and tucked itself away for later. I guess in that sense, Ponyboy got his wish. For just a short while, I was able to leave things simmering on the back burner. It wasn't completely what he'd hoped for, of course, but as I'd stood with Tim in the busy terminal, looking for the man that was supposed to be there to pick us up, I figured it was close enough. And it was close enough now, staring at the little brick house with its shady front porch and tired roof.

This time, when Maggie opened the door, I could see she was still in her Sunday best. We grinned at each other, and she stepped back to let me in. I wondered if her mother would be there and my nerves jolted at the thought. But the house seemed quiet, so I figured she'd probably gone to the hospital to be with Maggie's father.

"Why don't we sit down here in the living room," Maggie suggested, gesturing to a faded but stately blue sofa. I remained standing, waiting for her to sit first. She asked whether I'd like a drink.

"Some water would be great," I nodded. I felt foolish just standing there until she returned, so I sat down. The room was neat as a pin to the point where it didn't really look lived in except for the issue of Life magazine that Maggie herself had probably dropped on the gleaming coffee table when I'd knocked.

I hurried to my feet as she appeared in the doorway once more, carrying two glasses of ice water. She pulled two coasters from a side table and put them down in front of us before sitting. I took a sip of my water and put it on the coaster, wondering whether to jump right in on the bid or to make small talk first.

"I thought sure we were going to get a storm last night," she said as I eased down on the other end of the sofa, "and then we didn't."

I shook my head. "I know, I did, too. We sure need it."

She nodded. "Well, looks like maybe we'll have another chance tonight."

I'd seen the thunderheads to the south, looking a lot like they had yesterday. "Maybe so," I agreed. Lord. Why did it still feel so…Not awkward. That wasn't the right word. _Anticipatory. _

She studied me, and I wondered what she was thinking. "You look tired," she said suddenly. "Did you have trouble sleeping last night because of the heat?" And then she wrinkled her nose in that way she has, laughing at herself. "Oh, gosh! Darry, I'm probably the nosiest person alive. Just ignore me when I get like this."

I smiled. "I did have trouble sleeping," I agreed. And left it with that. If she had any idea of what my life was like lately, well, she'd probably run away as fast as her feet would carry her.

"Me, too," she said. "Every time I started to doze off, I thought of you. How's your arm?"

Oh. That. I'd thought–Well, never mind what I thought. I lifted my arm to show that I'd changed the bandage. "It's fine, Maggie. Really, it's nothing." I took another sip of water, and she followed my lead. Then she wrinkled her nose again and asked,

"Well, should we get the bad news out of the way?"

I chuckled. "It's not great news," I agreed, "but it could be worse." I'd left the tablet in the truck. I explained that to Maggie, and she followed me outside, joking,

"It'll just make us that much more relieved to come back inside out of the heat, give me something to look forward to."

It was probably better that we went over the figures outside. I liked to show home owners the materials, if they were interested. Maggie might actually _be_ interested. Hell, she'd surprised me in a lot of ways already. Fishing, for one. And the way she never hesitated to laugh at her own expense. She _was _nosy, but not in a way I minded. It was more like she wanted to just know you. All of you. Good, not so good. She wasn't like some women, who seemed to be gathering useful information, tucking it away for later, only to pull it out to suit themselves. Usually during an argument. But then, I didn't know what an argument with Maggie would be like. Somehow, though, I didn't think her interest held that sort of intent.

She shifted from foot to foot as I pulled the tablet out, and her fingers worked nervously at her neckline. I realized then that the assumptions I'd made based on the house and the neighborhood were all wrong. The Connollys might have been solid once, financially speaking. Maybe it was her father's illness that had her so edgy. I didn't know how long he'd been ill, how long he'd been in the hospital. But hospitals were expensive. I knew that better than anyone.

Of course. Why hadn't I realized it sooner? She was terrified. All her fretting wasn't just about the condition of the roof itself, but of the money it would take to replace it. Every home owner I gave a bid to was nervous. No one liked to put out that sort of money. But wishing you could spend it on other things wasn't the same as hoping you'd plain have it to spend.

The fact that I felt a little relieved at this revelation made me feel like a real jerk. But it made me admit to myself that I'd been worried I wasn't good enough for Maggie. Hell, I still wasn't sure I _was _good enough. But with the scales a little less out of balance…and that's why I felt like a jerk. Seeing that Maggie was worried about money made me feel like I had something more to offer, even though I don't have two nickels to rub together these days.

"Should we start with the bottom line and work backward, or do you want me to go over the different options in detail?"

She thought about this. "I think I need to hear the details," she decided, and she turned back toward the house, gesturing at me to follow. She led me to the porch swing, and she sat down. "Somehow," she said, "things go down better when I'm in motion."

That reminded me of Soda, always moving. As soon as I sat down, she gave us a gentle push and took a deep breath. "Okay, let me have it."

I grinned softly. "I'll be as gentle as I can."

She nodded. "I know you will," she smiled a little, too, patting my left bicep. I felt it in my toes. Man, it was amazing the effect she had on me with just a casual gesture.

"Okay," I began, "so there are two ways we can do this…"

I explained the difference between cedar shakes, which could last fifty years if they were cared for properly, and asphalt shingles, which lasted up to thirty but with a lot less fuss. "All roofs are basically the same. You've got your sheathing at the bottom, you've got a layer of felt to protect against moisture, and then you've got the shingles on the top. If you go with asphalt, we have to change the sheathing, though." I explained the difference between the skip sheathing she had now, where the boards had spaces between them to allow more ventilation so that the cedar shakes could dry out properly after it rained, and the full sheathing you'd put under asphalt. "Normally you can just lay the plywood over the old skip sheathing, but yours is so rotted out it would just make for a weak roof. We'll have to strip it off and put the new sheathing down right on the frame. But even doing that, the cost of an asphalt roof is lower than cedar."

I gave her the side by side calculations I'd worked up. I'd thought for sure she'd make a face. But just now, studying my math, she reminded me of Ponyboy: expressionless.

After sitting just that way for a few minutes, watching her slender leg flex as she kept the swing going with her foot, she looked up at me. "I hope you won't be offended if I tell you I'd like to get another estimate."

There she went, surprising me again. A nosy fisherwoman with a hefty dose of good common sense. "No," I shook my head. "I think it's the smart thing to do."

She folded the paper, then paused and held it up. "I can keep this, right?"

I nodded. "Sure."

Now she gave me that smile like sunshine and said, "It's a relief to get that out of the way. Now I've just got to worry about what the next guy will tell me. And what on earth to do if he gives me something a lot different," she added.

I laughed. "I'd offer to help, but I'm biased in favor of myself."

She laughed, too. "Well, do you suppose we should go inside, get out of this heat?"

I grinned. "Do we have to? I find out a lot of interesting things about you when you're pushing a glider or a porch swing."

Her delighted grin sent those pinballs zigging and zagging again.

* * *

With Darry out giving Maggie a bid and Soda at work, I could turn on the TV and flip channels all I wanted. I was hoping for a special report, you know, for word on Randy, but there wasn't one playing anywhere, so I went into the kitchen and pulled the phonebook out.

"Tulsa Police," the bored operator announced.

"I need to talk to Officer…" Shoot. What was his name? "Officer Mahler."

"Who's calling?"

"Curtis," I said. "Ponyboy Curtis."

"One moment."

It was more than one moment. A lot more. I was just about to hang up when I heard a curious voice on the other end say simply, "Mahler."

"Uh, h-hi," I stammered. "I was just calling to see if, you know, if you found Randy yet."

"Not yet," Mahler answered gently. "How are you feeling today?"

"Fine," I answered, wondering why he seemed so concerned. Randy was the one missing.

"That's good to hear," he answered. I waited for a moment. "You know, I hope you'll call me if you remember anything else about that car or those men."

"Sure," I agreed. And I would.

He told me to take good care of myself and not to worry. "We're doing everything we can, Ponyboy."

I didn't know what to say to that. It was probably true. Randy was just a kid. They wouldn't blame his father's actions on him, would they? Still, you can't really trust a cop. They'll tell you right to your face that they only want to help you. But if you're not careful, if you trust them too much, you'll wind up on the shit list.

Two-Bit found that out the time they hauled him in for shoplifting. They pretended to be amused with what he'd done, willing to let him go if he told them what he knew about Tim. They thought he'd been the one to mug a lady on Sutton, but it wasn't him. He didn't have an alibi or anything, and the cops thought for sure he'd done it. Two-Bit refused to play along, so they booked him. The judge let him go since it was his first arrest, but his mom sure gave him hell for it. He didn't touch a thing that didn't belong to him for the next six months. Then he swiped that blade he was so proud of and sort of stayed off the wagon. But he got the message alright. You gotta watch out for cops. They'll feed you any old line they want, and if you don't play their game, they'll make sure you lose.

"Ponyboy?"

I blinked and hung up the phone. I'd thought he'd already left the line.

"Who ya callin'?"

I jumped about a foot in the air. "Geez, Two-Bit!"

"What's the matter, Pony? Got ants in your pants?" He batted his eyelashes at me. I shoved him half-heartedly. He grabbed me and knuckled my scalp. I slammed myself against him so he hit the floor, and I gave him back some of the same. "Ooh!" he laughed. "I got me a feisty one!" he cried and wrestled me down on my back. "Say it!"

"Nope," I grunted, slipping out from under his grip. I almost had him down before he turned things around again and put me facedown on the rug.

"Say it!" he laughed.

My cheek was probably becoming imprinted with the pattern of the yarn. I struggled, but I couldn't move him. "Two-Bit!"

"Say it!" he repeated.

"Uncle, dammit!" I gave in, laughing when he released me at once. "I almost had you."

"Yeah," he nodded. "You almost had me."

I'd never been able to pin him before, even for a few seconds. For a lanky guy, he was pretty strong. Stealth muscle, he called it. We sat on the floor just grinning at each other and trying to catch our breath. Finally, though, Two-Bit got to his feet and offered me a hand up.

"You hungry?" he asked.

"Starving," I agreed. He didn't make any noises about not eating our food. He just headed to the kitchen and pulled out the half empty pan of chocolate cake. None of us had been eating it lately. But he handed me a fork and dug in. When I didn't follow his lead, he grabbed my fork and dug up a chunk and thrust the fork back into my hand.

It tasted good. I wondered why we'd just left it sitting there. I took another forkful. Maybe you just had to be in the right mood.

* * *

_**A/N: Okay. So a little more lull. Not much longer now (before all hell breaks loose, that is). I promise.**_


	26. Chapter 26

Two-Bit left around four to take Kathy out on the town. Darry's truck rumbled into the drive at about five, but he didn't come in right away. I was just about to go see what he was doing outside when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"May I speak to Ponyboy Curtis?" The voice was familiar, but I didn't know who it was.

"That's me," I said warily.

"Ponyboy, it's Officer Mahler. I've been down to Crossleigh Stables today to check on those two stable hands you recognized."

"Yeah?" I peeked around the corner. No Darry. Good.

"Yeah," he answered. "The trouble is, you said there were two of them, but the gentleman who manages the stable hands only recognized one of the descriptions. He gave me the name of a guy who fit the description of the driver, but you mentioned a really big guy wearing a Helsden t-shirt."

I nodded, and then I rolled my eyes at myself because it wasn't like he could see. "That's right."

There was silence on the line for a few moments. "Ponyboy, do you suppose you might be able to come down to the station and look at a few pictures for me? I'm hoping we've seen your big guy before. If we have, we'll have a photo of him."

I almost grinned. I thought looking at mug shots was something they only really did on detective shows and in the movies. But how was I gonna do that without telling Darry? He'd told me earlier today not to go anyplace alone.

"I mean it, Ponyboy. You don't set foot out of this house alone. Got it?"

"I got it," I'd told him.

"And once you're out with someone, you don't leave eyesight."

"Okay," I nodded again. Talk about feeling four years old. I mean, I know he was just worried those guys might be looking for me, but it still made me feel like a little kid.

"Ponyboy?" Officer Mahler asked.

"I don't know. My brothers have to work, and they don't want me walking around alone in case…" I didn't finish the thought. He knew what I meant.

"Right. Well, if you could talk to, uh," he shuffled some paperwork around, "Darrel? He'd have to agree to allow you to come in and help us out."

Well, then, that was settled. There's no way he'd agree to that. He'd already made it clear he wanted nothing more than to put it all away and forget about it. I'd looked around the house for the newspaper for almost a half hour before I realized he must have put it out with the garbage. He didn't want me looking for articles on Randy, he didn't want me watching TV looking for it, and he didn't want me putting on the radio to listen, either.

"I don't think he'd let me," I finally answered, biting at a hangnail on my thumb. "He doesn't want me involved in any of it."

"Well, I can understand that," Mahler said reasonably. "It must've taken a couple years off his life, what happened."

"I guess," I agreed.

"Do you suppose I could talk to him? Is he home?"

"He's here, but he's outside someplace." The guy didn't get it. There was no way Darry was letting me get involved.

"Could you go get him?"

I thought about just hanging up the phone. But he'd probably just call back. I sighed. "I'll try."

Darry had the hood up on the truck. Shoot. He was whistling again. He was whistling and I was about to ruin his good mood. I almost turned back to the house, but I knew Mahler wouldn't just go away.

"Hey, Darry," I said reluctantly, "that Officer Mahler is on the phone. He wants to talk to you."

Darry's head whipped up so fast I'm surprised he didn't smack it on the hood. He gave me a sour look. But then he just frowned and turned toward the house. I followed. I wanted to hear what he said to Mahler.

"This is Darrel," he said flatly after he scooped up the phone. I guess he didn't like what Mahler had to say, because he started rubbing the back of his neck and then he rubbed his forehead. "Is that really necessary? What good will it do?" He listened for another few seconds. "I don't know. I don't think it's a good idea." He paused again. "No. If he goes in at all, it'll be with me…Look, I'm not saying either way right now. I'll think about it…Fine, you do that…" Darry hung up the phone and sighed.

I didn't ask, but to my surprise, after Darry stomped to the cupboard, pulled out a glass and filled it with water, he said,

"They think they know who the driver is, but they want you to come down and look through the mug shots to see if you recognize the other guys."

I nodded. I didn't tell him I already knew that. I guess Mahler let Darry think all this was brand new. It figured. Just more manipulation. More game playing, trying to get what they wanted by letting Darry think he had any control over the situation. If it wasn't for the fact that I wanted to help Randy, I would have agreed with Darry. But I figured if he didn't take me down, they'd find a way to force him.

"I don't like it," he shook his head.

I shrugged. "They'll just keep asking."

"Probably," Darry agreed.

"Maybe I should just go down there." I shrugged again. "I mean, it's just a bunch of photos."

He looked at me evenly. "I'd like it if you stayed out of it."

"Darry," I said, shaking my head, "if they have photos of the guys, then maybe they'll be able to find them. I won't have to have a bodyguard every time I step outside the house. I mean, what about school?"

He sighed. "Let me think about it."

I didn't answer. There was no point in it. Darry'd make up his mind when he was good and ready.

Luckily, talking to Mahler didn't seem to faze him for long. He didn't go back to whistling, but he seemed to stay in a pretty good mood.

"How'd it go at Maggie's?" I asked, following him outside as he went back out to the truck.

"Fine," he said. "She's going to get another bid and let me know by the end of next week."

I knew Darry was impressed about that. He says no one should ever get just one bid for anything. "You think she'll pick you?"

He shrugged and used a flat head screwdriver to pry the battery caps off. He looked at the water level for a few seconds before poking the caps back down. "If she goes by price, she probably will. I didn't leave much in there for profit. Just enough to pay Tim or Steve or somebody to give me a hand and to make up for having to work thirteen days in a row. And if we run into any problems, it'll be closer to twenty-one."

I hadn't thought of that. Darry was so exhausted by Friday most weeks I couldn't imagine how he'd drag all the way through to the next Sunday before getting a break.

He checked the oil and then put the hood back down.

In a rare mood, he slapped my shoulder and teased, "What are you making for dinner?"

"Me?" I asked, laughing. "I don't know. What do you want?"

He snorted. "Guess it depends on what you and Two-Bit left behind."

I shrugged. "We almost finished the cake, but we didn't eat anything else."  
He gave me a look.

"Well," I corrected, "_I _did. Two-Bit didn't, though. He wasn't here long. He's taking Kathy out."

In the end, Darry handed me yet another towel of ice and ordered me to the sofa. He clattered around in the kitchen so much I wondered how many people he was cooking for.

Soda came in after too long, but by the way he slammed through the house and stomped past me to the bedroom, I knew something had him in a mood. Steve loped in, and when he tipped his chin at me as usual, I asked,

"What's with him?"

Steve pulled a face. "Buck put up this week's schedule, and he's got Soda working all next weekend again."

Soda hates working the whole weekend. He doesn't mind working Sundays if he has to, but he really likes Saturdays off. And if he can't have Saturday, he thinks he should automatically have Sunday.

"Guess Buck's still getting even for all his call offs," I said, feeling sort of guilty. After all, he'd called off because of me, because he was in New Mexico waiting for me to show up.

"Guess so," Steve shrugged. I wished he wasn't so quick to agree it was my fault, even if it was.

"Staying for dinner?" I ventured asking, since he was answering. Sometimes he ignores me even if he's standing two inches away and the whole world knows he heard me.

"Nope. He's just changing clothes."

"Oh."

Soda came out and put one of our old bedspreads on the coffee table before disappearing into the bathroom to work on his hands. He tries really hard to keep the grease out from under his nails. Says the girls don't like it much. He usually puts on too much aftershave, too, because he says they don't like the smell of the garage on him. To me, that's just Soda. He wouldn't be him otherwise. But then again, I ain't a girl snuggling up against him.

Darry came into the living room, and Steve asked him how the whole bid thing went. He started rambling on, and I only half-listened as I pulled my sketchbook out and looked at my latest attempt. It still wasn't just right, but each time I got closer. Something about the ledges and the shading…I rubbed the lead gently here and there until I barely heard Soda march out complaining about how he could scrub all night and still smell like gasoline. Steve's answer was that it wasn't his skin, it was his clothes sucking up all those fumes. Then he teasingly drawled something like, "Don't worry, buddy, I still love you…" and the screen door slammed shut to Soda grumbling about how they were gonna be late and the girls would pout.

"Pony! Toss me that blanket!"

I thought they were long gone. The sound of his voice startled me so bad I jumped up like my pants were on fire. "Yessir!" I called, snatching the blanket off the table.

The door crashed open and Soda snatched me by my shoulders. He shook me so hard I'd have fallen on my butt if he hadn't had that death grip on me. "I'm Soda! Just Soda!!" he shouted, shoving me angrily.

Never, ever in my life had he done anything like that, with that sort of force. I froze, and he froze, breathing hard, his face red like I've never seen it. Then his face just sort of crumpled up and he let out a weird strangled noise and slammed back out of the house without the blanket.

* * *

Lord. I could barely believe it was Soda who'd burst in and grabbed Ponyboy like that. He'd shoved him a time or two before, you know, if he was angry, but nothing like what I'd just seen. Ponyboy'd sooner cut off his own foot with a rusty blade than hurt Sodapop. He just stood there for a long minute, looking stricken. Then he bolted outside, shoving past Steve, who looked at me with the same sort of bafflement I'm sure was all over my own face.

Steve gave up and came inside and sat down on the couch. The two of us listened to Ponyboy tripping all over himself apologizing while Soda's footsteps sounded up and down the porch. Pony's staggered footsteps told me he was at Soda's heels as he paced. When Soda appeared in front of the screen door again, he whipped around and grabbed Pony by the shoulders once more. "Dammit," he cried, "it ain't you I'm mad at, Ponyboy! It's _them."_ His voice caught as he pleaded, "Look at how they've messed with your head! It's like part of you is still at that damn camp…like you're never gonna really come home!"

"Soda," Pony tried, but Soda just poked his head in the door and said,

"Steve, let's go."

Then Soda disappeared from view and I heard him go down the steps. Steve stepped to the door, but Pony was standing in the way with that god awful blank look. Steve put a hand on his shoulder and just looked at him for a few seconds. Then he gave Pony one light slap and squeezed past him.

"Ponyboy," I said helplessly, trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make anything better. In the space of two days, both of us, both his brothers had let him know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't, in fact, okay.

* * *

**_A/N: Man. When I wrote about Darry checking the water in the battery...is anyone else REALLY glad we don't have to do that anymore, or am I showing how freaking old I am compared to most people here?!_**


	27. Chapter 27

_**A/N: At the end of this chapter, there will be a Tim POV. Just thought I should let you know since I've never done that. Forgive me if it is totally OOC. I have no real idea what I am doing w/ him.**_

* * *

Pony went back to that sketchbook and didn't make another peep for the rest of the night. We didn't talk over dinner. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him everything was going to be all right, but that would have been a lie based on nothing but desperate hope. I wanted to talk to him about the decision Soda and I had made to find another doctor for him to talk to, but I had a feeling it would only make things worse just now.

He did the dishes, but when he went to take the garbage out I took the bag from him and did it myself. I didn't want him on that leg any more than necessary. I knew it was bothering him. I wanted to tell him to pull the crutches back out, but I figured it would keep until tomorrow. He wasn't really doing much walking tonight.

He took the sedative around eight. That bothered me. He was using sleep to avoid things, I think. Not that it worked. He was in bed by eight-thirty, leaving me up to wonder and worry.

A few minutes after he ducked into his room, I thought I saw a flash of lightning out of the corner of my eye. Moments later a soft rumble confirmed it. I wandered over by the front door and was surprised at how heavy the air felt, thick with the scent of rain that hadn't even happened yet. The best thing was, the heat wave had finally broken, at least temporarily. It was warm out, but nowhere near as uncomfortable as it had been.

I tried to watch some movie, but it was a crime drama and I couldn't help but think about Officer Mahler's request and Randy and Ponyboy and a whole lot of stuff I just wanted to put aside for a while. So I turned off the set and grabbed the L'Amour Pony was finished with and closed up the house for the night, remembering to leave the porch light on for Soda. I smirked thinking about how the weather wasn't a good sign for his picnic plans. He sure couldn't catch a break today.

Helpful lightning lit up Pony and Soda's room as I walked by, and I peeked inside. Pony was facing the window. In the brief flash, it looked like he might already be asleep. The window was open. I wondered whether or not to close it. The air was so refreshing, though, that I hated to shut it. Lightning flashed again, showing me the even rhythm of Pony's breathing. Yeah, he was asleep. Peaceful. I just wished that peace could exist in him when he was awake.

* * *

I just wanted to go. Just go away and pick up the girls and lose myself in trying to get Wanda to let me–

"Do you really want to do this?" Steve asked, letting the engine idle.

"Let's get out of here," I said firmly.

I wanted to go. Far away from home, where everything was so messed up. Where Pony was so messed up. The weight of it, you know, I just couldn't take it any more. I didn't mean to blow up at him like that. He didn't do nothing wrong. I didn't know which was worse…the way he looked at me just after, or the way he _stopped _looking and went all blank like he does.

"Steve," I said, my voice rising when I realized we were still at the curb, "let's go!"

He let up off the brake with a sigh. I knew he was thinking Pony'd just ruined another fun night out, and I wanted to punch him for it. But he was right this time. I didn't want to go home, but I wasn't really up for much just now, either. But canceling again would just make the girls furious, and I didn't really want to just bum around with Steve tonight. He was annoyed, and we'd probably just get on each other's nerves without the girls around for a distraction.

I thought of Wanda and felt a little better about things. Maybe it would be fun. The girls would bring the picnic food, and I–

"I forgot the blanket," I said flatly, banging my head back on the headrest.

"The girls will have one," he answered, making his way toward Evie's place. "Not sure we should try a picnic, anyway, buddy," he said, looking up at the sky. Thunderheads were closing in on what was left of the sun.

"Looked like that yesterday," I shrugged, "and nothing happened."

"Soda," Steve said at the next stop sign, "maybe we should just call it a night. Try this again another time."

I glanced at him and felt guilty. He'd been looking forward to this. Now he didn't want to. "I don't want to go home," I replied quietly. "I just want to cuddle up next to a pretty girl and forget things for a while."

"Trouble with that plan, Soda," he said with a sigh, "is those things'll be right where you left them when you get back."

"I know it." I watched a pretty girl pass by, walking a dog half as tall as she was. "I'll be okay. We'll have fun," I told him.

"Whatever you say," he muttered under his breath.

I'm sure he was relieved when we pulled up to Evie's house. As we packed up his trunk with supplies, I started to get more in the mood for the picnic. Especially when I peeked inside the basket and saw how they'd gone all out…cold chicken, potato salad, that sort of stuff.

I hopped in the back with Wanda and let Evie sit beside Steve.

"Hi," I greeted, "You look real pretty tonight." She did, too. She had on this light blue dress with no sleeves, and it made her eyes look even bluer.

She just grinned and put on her seatbelt. Then she looked out the window and up at the sky. "Do you think we'll get rained out?"

"Hope not," I answered earnestly. "I'm looking forward to that chicken you brought."

She laughed. "You sound like Evie's dad. She had to fight him off so he wouldn't get into the basket. He kept trying to clear us out of the kitchen so he could grab a drumstick."

"Well, I'm glad you kept him out," I said, reaching for her hand. She dropped her eyes as I laced my fingers with hers. I wasn't sure if she was really shy or just playing at it. Sometimes the girls who act shy are the most fun of all.

* * *

Long after dinner was over and we'd walked up and down the bank of the Arkansas until the sun started setting just ahead of those clouds, Wanda and I wound up several yards down river from Steve and Evie. The wind had kicked up, and there was some lightning off in the distance. And all I could think was _Not yet, not yet!, _kissing Wanda and putting my hands wherever she'd let me. She didn't give me have quite as much territory as I asked for, but then, girls seldom do. So I enjoyed the softness of her lips and the breathlessness we shared while I inched my hand up from her waist.

Then there was a loud crack and it was like somebody unzipped the darn sky. No warning drizzle. No faint pecking of tiny water drops. Wanda bolted up like someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her, squealing loudly. I leapt up and pulled the blanket off the grassy bank and shook it a couple quick times before throwing it over our heads. Gave me an excuse to bump my body right up next to hers.

After the initial shock wore off, she met my eyes and we both started laughing hard enough to slow us down from a run to a walk.

"This is kind of romantic," she mused. With each of us holding up an end of the blanket with our outside hands, we laced our fingers together again and kept on toward Steve and Evie, who weren't quite as quick, seeing as how they had the blanket with the picnic basket on it and all the empty food containers still scattered everywhere.

If I'd known that once we packed everything up and made it back into the car that the girls would decide to call it a night, I would have been slower to duck inside. It wasn't that late, I didn't think, and I didn't want to go back and have to try to face Pony. I wanted to leave it for tomorrow, so I wanted to get back after he was asleep.

But Steve couldn't talk the girls into parking and watching the storm, though Evie teased him and said maybe another time. So we got out and put the girls back under those damp blankets and rushed them to the door of Evie's house. They kissed us pretty good for our trouble. Or at least I know Wanda did me. Once the door closed, we jogged back to the car.

"Should we stop by Mike's and see if there's a game on?" I asked hopefully. Mike is one of Steve's friends. He has a lot of guys over to his place several times a month for poker, and most of the time the stakes are pretty low this early on in the evening. But then, I didn't have much of anything but lint in my pockets.

It didn't matter, anyway, because Steve shook his head and said, "His old lady is back in town two days ago, and she's still riding him about the house being a mess."

His wife had been in Michigan visiting her folks. I guess Mike got a little too footloose and fancy free for her liking.

Steve pulled up at our place ten minutes later, and I sat staring at the porch light for a few minutes. There wasn't any light in the living room window. Darry's bedroom light was on, though, and his truck was out front, so I knew they were home. Steve didn't say anything. He just waited.

I sighed. "Guess the fun is over, huh?"

"Guess so," he answered flatly. "See you tomorrow."

"Not unless you come by," I said. "I'm off, remember?"

He nodded as I got out of the car. He waited until I was on the porch pulling the key off the top of the door jamb before driving away.

The house was quiet. The light was out in our room. I wandered down the hall, but Darry was asleep, too, with that book of Pony's on his chest. I was surprised. It was only nine-thirty. Darry usually stayed up later than that even after a hard day's work. But I didn't guess he'd been sleeping all that great lately. I turned out the light, and he made a soft noise at me, less than half awake.

"Night, Darry," I said softly, wandering back down the hall.

_What the hell? _I thought, changing out of my wet shirt and kicking off my shoes. It was cooler in the bedroom, and I realized the window was open. I didn't want to close it because the storm had a nice breeze to it, but I didn't want to catch it from Darry. I must've stood in front of my bed for five minutes wondering what I should do before flopping down. It just felt too good after all that rotten heat. I fell asleep with the comforting breeze whispering across my chest and over my legs.

* * *

Chopper Davis gave me one last shove and grunted, "Go home and sleep it off, Shepard!"

I caught myself before tripping over a parking block. I wasn't all that drunk. Not like he thought, anyway. But I was plenty mad and had just enough Jack in me to make it look like I was bombed out of my tree. _Where the hell's that hunk of junk he drives? _It would be hard to miss the dented up old Buick he drove to work, especially since there were exactly two other junkers parked in front of Helsden just now, at just before one in the morning. But then again, he drove that heap because of guys like me…all of us bounced drunkards with sloppy ideas at revenge. Turning us in to the police when we were inevitably caught red-handed wasn't good for business, so you just let all the hoods get their pound of rubber flesh, took the knives out of your tires, and hoofed it home. But I didn't see his wreck, and I didn't have my blade, come to think of it. Well, hell.

That's my luck. All bad. No matter how I play the game these days, I always seem to lose. If a lady wanted a hard case bad boy, she was disappointed to find I'm working for the money in my pocket these days. But if she wants a stand up guy, my rap sheet or the prison issue tattoo on my left bicep seem to speak louder than that straight and narrow path I've been trying out for the last little while. I'm either too good or too bad, depending on the woman. Probably doesn't help that I'd gone and developed some standards all of a sudden. Red hair, soft voice, softer skin. Sharp tongue, too, if you didn't watch your own. Someone who doesn't drink or swear more than I do. Course, the bar is set pretty low on those last ones. But the others…well, I think that's why I've been going to bed alone for too long now.

Lightning lit the deserted street, and thunder growled above me. The ground was shining wet under the streetlamps. It had been pouring buckets when I'd strolled in through the door, hoping to find some company. And I no sooner thought about that than the sky tore open again, loosing a sheet of water all over me. No matter. A little rain never hurt anybody. Felt like the temperature dropped ten degrees in ten seconds, though, and that sort of thing almost makes you shiver. No one in Tulsa was gonna mind that, not after more than a week of unbearable, sticky heat.

Yeah, it was starting to get old, this straight and narrow thing. What was the point if you didn't wind up better off in the end? And that damn path changed just about every day, too. Some days it was a wide, easy walk. Others, like today, felt like being on a tightrope over a pit of snakes.

I don't know. This last run in jail may have been the shortest, but it sure felt longer than the last two combined. Plenty of time to think. Plenty of time to wonder if being stuck in an eight by eight with nothing but other angry types was all that good for a guy's health. Couple things seem to have stuck in my head. For one, getting something for nothing only happened if you broke the law. Nothing free is without strings. The only exception, which I still don't really get, is that crazy St. Louis trip in June. But maybe that had a price, too. Seems every time temptation rears its ugly head, the goddamn Curtis boys come to mind and I remember that last conversation with Darry on the plane coming home.

"Your brother must be nuts, Curtis, passing up a weekend like we just had."

"Tell me about it," he sighed, shaking his head. "But he swore up and down it had to be you and me." After a few minutes of silence, he added, "Right before the car came to pick me up, he said he wanted you and me to remember this trip whenever things get tough."

Seems to me I've been thinking about that trip too damn much lately. And every time I do, I think of fucking Hemingway and how he still believes there's a future out there that's brighter than the one he lives in. Seems a shame to be the one to prove him wrong.

Well. Hell. I guess I'm not the only soul out on these here dark, dripping streets.

Wait a minute…

I watched the far-off figure as we drew closer to one another...me on Ketchum, him on Lansford, the two of us about to meet at the corner. The guy weaved along the street, his gait uneven, and my heart kicked up. Couldn't be. At one a.m.? Here? But it was. I was further back than I thought, and he was gonna make it to the corner first. I walked a little faster. Not too much or what booze I'd had might trip me.

I heard another rumble, but it wasn't thunder. I glanced back and saw that asshole, Chopper, ripping down the street. _Must've been parked out back, _I thought.

Stupid kid stepped right off the curb. I lunged, grabbing him by the collar at the last possible second.

"_Christ_, Ponyboy!" I shouted, shaking him as hard as my heart was pounding.

Chopper just wheeled around the corner, laying on his horn.


	28. Chapter 28

"Kid, what the _fuck_ are you doing out here?!"

I blinked. "Tim?" I turned back to look at Kurt and Wade. The pines had vanished. _They _had vanished. I turned to look back at the Stovepipe, but all I saw was the smokestacks at the plant. And Tim Shepard glowering down at me.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Tim repeated, smacking my shoulder. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, looking down the street. "Did you come all the way from–" He shook his head. "Of course you did," he answered himself. "How else?"

I turned to look back again, wondering which place was real. Seemed unlikely I'd be in New Mexico if Tim was here, but–

"C'mon, kid," he said, grabbing my shoulder and shoving me into the street after looking both ways, "Let's get over to my place and call your brothers before one of them wakes up and has a damn heart attack."

My eyes didn't want to stay open. I couldn't help wondering if any second this weird dream of home was going to end with Kurt or Wade shaking me, proving that Tim had been the illusion all along. But then after what felt like half a mile we were in his tiny little apartment and he was kicking the door shut behind us. I wondered if he was gonna get his car and take me home, or if he'd just say it was a nice night for a walk. Except it wasn't. It was thundering, and it was raining. And I was tired of being wet. And walking. I was definitely tired of walking.

"Sit down," he ordered, giving me a light shove toward the ratty, sagging sofa in his little studio. Bachelor pad, they called it. Take the cushions off and there was a bed inside. But I was too tired to do all that. I just let the world spin away behind my closed eyes, distantly hearing the sound of him dialing the ugly yellow phone on the wall that tried to close off the kitchen from the living/bedroom. I was asleep before I could figure out if anybody answered.

* * *

I woke sweaty and uneasy in a lot of ways. I'd been dreaming about—

Was that the phone?

I glanced over at Ponyboy as I rolled out of bed, but his was empty. Lightning flashed at the window and a strong breeze licked at the curtain. The phone rang a second time. _ Oh, shit. _ I dove for the bedroom door and tore into the kitchen. "Darry!!" I shouted, yanking the phone almost completely off the wall. "Hello?!"

Darry skidded into the kitchen, looking as terrified as I felt. I knew he'd seen Pony's empty bed on his way past our room.

"Soda, where's–" Darry cut himself off and ripped the phone out of my hand. "Pony?" he asked, his voice tight. A second later, he rubbed his face with his free hand. "Jesus…" He listened for another second. "Yeah, okay. Thanks, Tim. We'll be there in a minute."

He hung up and scooped his keys off the kitchen counter. Then he looked down at me and me at him and we both hustled to our rooms to pull some more clothes on. Last thing we needed was the cops writing us up for indecent exposure. We hit the porch at the same time.

"Dar," I said, wincing, "I'm sorry. It was so nice out, and he was asleep, and I–"

"I knew it was open," he said, and relief poured through me. I sure didn't need him to be furious with me. He cursed as the engine stuttered and died, but then it started and I barely had the door closed on my side before he was rolling out of the drive.

"Is he okay?" I yawned, wondering how Darry could even see to drive. My own eyes were bleary and kept closing all by themselves.

"He's fine," Darry answered wearily. "Damn near got hit by a car, though. Tim pulled him out of the street just in time."

He glanced at me with that helpless look he'd been wearing a lot lately, his lips in a tight line. I knew he wondered if getting Pony a head doctor would even help. This seemed too big, somehow, even for that.

_C'mon, Pony, _I thought, _snap out of it._ I'd been wishing for it ever since he marched into camp so different than before. He still wasn't himself. Maybe Darry was right. Maybe he never would be.

Funny, though, how he looked like the same little brother I'd always known, curled up on Tim's couch with a fist tucked up under his cheek.

Darry gave him a shake. "Ponyboy!"

He tried to get his eyes open, but his lids kept sinking down again, much like my own had been doing when we first got into the truck. How he ever got the better part of two miles from home like that was beyond me. Darry tried again, sort of pulling Ponyboy up into a sitting position.

"Darry?"

"Yeah," Darry said, tugging him off the couch. "It's just me."

Pony blinked, taking in the room. "Where…?" he trailed off, obediently stumbling along as Darry steered him to the door.

"Thanks, Tim!" I called, trailing behind them. When I glanced back, he was shaking his head. I'll bet he'd sort of thought we were exaggerating about Pony. Bet he didn't think so now.

Pony fell against me and slept for the short ride home. We got him out of the truck and back into bed. Darry closed the window and latched it, then looked at Pony, already asleep again, and scrubbed his face with both hands.

"We'll call Dr. Joseph in the morning," I said, hooking one hand on his shoulder.

He nodded but didn't say anything. He stood there for a few minutes after I got back into bed.

"Night, Soda."

"Night," I agreed, rolling on my side to keep an eye on Pony. At least until I fell back asleep. It sure took a while. Every slight little creak or rustle and I was back on full alert, checking to see that Pony was still in his bed.

* * *

"Murphy, it's Darrel," I said as soon as someone picked up the phone. It was still coming down in torrents outside, so I knew there'd be no roofing work. But that didn't mean there might not be some interior jobs.

"Hey, Curtis," he grumbled. "How 'bout this rain?"

"Yeah, I know," I agreed. "Got any drywall for me? Cabinets?"

"Tucker and Johnson are already on the only one we've got that far along. I'd send you over to Brightview, but the inspector hasn't been out yet. If I think of anything, or if the inspector shows up, I'll give you a call."

I sighed. "Yeah, okay." Murphy hung up.

That's what I got for forgetting to set the alarm. It was almost eight already, and nobody wanted to miss a day's pay. Early bird gets the worm and all that. The chances of a city inspector showing up anyplace were worse than my chances of working today.

I put the phone down for a few seconds, then I picked it up and dialed Dr. Joseph's office, taking full advantage of the fact that Ponyboy wasn't up yet. I was hoping to just make my request, but when I told the receptionist who I was and that I was calling about Ponyboy, she said she'd pass a message along to Dr. Joseph to call me back. That wasn't what I'd hoped for. Now I'd probably have to have that conversation with Ponyboy listening in at the breakfast table.

It wasn't that Soda and I weren't making the right decision. Anybody would say that we were. It was just that I didn't want to add feeling betrayed to whatever else was going on with Ponyboy. I knew that's what Dr. Joseph had meant. Ponyboy needed to understand we were still—we were _always—_in his corner. Trouble was, he didn't like that first guy we took him to. I know he felt betrayed, being forced to share his thoughts with a total stranger because his brothers didn't know how to fix whatever was wrong. And now we were right back in the same spot.

I sighed and poured myself a cup of coffee, listening to the rain pound on the roof. And then I started worrying. Not about our roof. I'd been up there a couple months ago and it was fine. Maggie's roof. I picked up the phone again. Then I remembered the time and put it back in the cradle. She might be up. She'd complained good-naturedly about having more workshops to attend at Jonas Salk this week.

I had to know if the roof was holding. This was what I told myself, though a little something in the back of my head was eagerly hoping it would be Maggie herself that answered and not her mother, whom I still hadn't met or talked with.

"Hello?"

My heart stuttered a little in relief. "Maggie?"

"Darry?" she asked, sounding surprised to hear from me.

"Sorry about the hour," I rushed on, "I just…well, I got to thinking about all this rain and your roof. How's it holding up?"

She chuckled. "So far so good. I normally love the rain, but right now I'm just peeking at the ceilings every hour."

"I'll bet," I wanted to wrap the sound of her soft laughter around myself, carry it with me. Use it as a shield when I told Ponyboy about our plan to have him see someone again.

"You're not working today," she stated, a smile in her voice. "Lucky! I have a workshop at ten and a staff meeting at eleven. I'd rather be here curled up with a good book."

"You sound like my brother," I told her. That's just what Pony would do. He'd take that last L'Amour out on the porch and sit half reading, half watching the rain.

"Ponyboy," she guessed, apparently remembering what I'd told her about each one.

"Yeah. Soda will be driving me crazy about how there's nothing to do."

She laughed again. "Well, you should send him to the kitchen and see what he comes up with. One of these times, he's bound to hit on a winner."

This time we laughed together. I couldn't believe how she held on to all those little details, the ones that always seem to fly out of my mouth when I'm around her. Although, I'm pretty sure I remember everything she's told me about herself, come to think of it. And I wanted to know more. I wanted, I realized, to know everything.

For the first time since meeting her, I felt afraid. For the first time since we'd started talking to each other, I lost track of her words in the noise of my own thoughts.

"Darry?" she was asking.

"Sorry," I said, wondering what I'd missed. Kicking myself for whatever it was. "I, uh, thought one of my brothers was finally crawling out of bed. False alarm."

I wanted to see her. It slammed into me with such urgency that I blinked, stunned. This wasn't good. It was, of course it was. But it wasn't. It was too much. Too soon. You don't get like this over a woman you've known for all of a week. Maybe it was because I somehow managed to put everything else away when I was around Maggie. I'd never been around another woman who made that possible. Not that I didn't still think about things at home when I was with her. But things _waited _when I was with her. When I was with Maggie, I was _with _Maggie…not thinking about the bills or about any of the other thousands of things that usually paraded around in my head when I was spending time with a woman.

"Maggie?" I asked, suddenly glad to have a day off in spite of the money I'd lose, "What would you say to sitting out on your porch with me and a couple of sandwiches? We could watch the rain, if it keeps up. Take your mind off of watching the ceilings," I teased, surprised at myself.

She laughed. "I think that's a lovely idea. But I don't think I'll be back home until around two. Is that too late?"

"No," I answered. "That's fine."

"If I get held up at school, I'll call you," she offered.

"Okay," I agreed, wondering if I'd have to go to the store to get something to put between slices of bread. "I'll bring the sandwiches. Any special requests?"

"Hold the mustard," she answered after a moment's thought.

"Got it. No mustard."

After we hung up, I stood leaning against the kitchen doorway, looking out the screen door at the rain, hoping it would continue all afternoon in spite of myself.

* * *

"The key to making a great sandwich," Maggie said, pointing a butter knife at me, "is to keep it from getting soggy. You put the mayonnaise on the slice _opposite_ from the vegetables."

I nodded, fighting a grin at her seriousness. In the end, I'd decided to bring the ingredients but to keep them separated so that she could have her sandwich exactly the way she liked it. And she was more than happy to show me just how that was.

She'd spread a moderate amount of mayo on a slice of lightly toasted rye bread, and now she was layering some of the shaved ham on top of it. Then came the Swiss cheese. Normally, I'd have put mustard on the other slice, but I didn't want it on my breath, seeing as how we'd be sitting close together on the porch swing. She skipped the mustard, of course, and put a piece of crisp lettuce and some very thinly sliced tomato on top. When it came to ham and Swiss on rye, I usually didn't put vegetables on it. Just mayo and mustard. Well, actually, sometimes a little sauerkraut. But if you wanted to talk about smells, that was even worse.

"So that's it," I joked. "The perfect sandwich."

She put a few potato chips on it and a wedge of dill pickle, and then she held the plate out at me. "See for yourself," she joked back. I took the plate. "There's some lemonade in the icebox," she said. "And the glasses are in the cupboard right over your head there. Would you mind pouring us each a glass?"

I didn't mind, though it felt a little strange to be just helping myself in someone else's kitchen like that. Even with permission I felt like someone was going to walk in and catch me like I was stealing the silverware. But in another way, it felt comfortable, too. Familiar.

When we settled on the porch swing, I felt a little kick of surprised pleasure at the way she left only enough room between us to nestle our lemonade glasses between the two of us. Otherwise, she planted herself hip to hip with me, which I didn't mind at all. _Soda'd be grinning ear to ear if he happened upon us like this_, I thought.

"This was a great idea, Darry," she said, poised to take a bite of her sandwich. As I nodded and bit into my own, I realized she was right. The lightly toasted bread had a satisfying crunch to it and the lettuce was crisp and cool. It _was_ a great sandwich. And the company, even better.

We ate in silence for a few moments, both of us gently rocking the swing. I'm surprised we didn't chew in synch with one another. I'd have to thank Soda, though, for giving me the picnic on the porch idea. Maggie didn't seem to mind a bit that we weren't in a little café someplace, even if it bothered me a little. She seemed to be enjoying herself for the time being…but what about a few dates down the road? Surely she'd begin to wonder why we never went to restaurants. Surely she'd begin to mind.

I pushed that worry aside and just enjoyed the light brush of her sleeve against mine as we both reached for our lemonades.

The porch swing worked its usual magic. We set aside our empty plates and our lemonade glasses, putting them on a little wicker table within arm's reach of the swing. Maggie closed the small gap left behind by the glasses. I settled my arm on her shoulders, and she smiled up at me in that way of hers. Then she just started chatting on, and I let her words pour over me as the rain poured on the world around us.

She told me about her parents, her voice dipping from happy to sad to amused and back again. Her father wasn't doing well. She thought he'd pass any day now, and I took her right hand in my own, rubbing my thumb gently across her palm, trying to ease the sadness in her voice. She smiled, musing about how on a day like this one she might find her parents swaying to the little radio in the kitchen, all wrapped up in one another until they caught her watching them. Her dad would give her mom a kiss and let her cut in. She liked to go into their room and dust the bureau and look at the pictures of her parents so in love, tracing her fingers over the pictures of her father in his army uniform and the shadow box that held his WWII medals.

"Every year in July we go to the American Legion and there's this huge fireworks celebration," she said. I nodded. I knew the one. Steve's father belonged to that post, and Steve sometimes took Evie to events there. "They hold functions there from time to time. In fact," she said, "on the Sunday night before Labor Day, there's a social. What do you think, Darry? Are you up to a barbecue and a little dancing?"

"I think I could manage it," I nodded, silently thanking my mother for dancing me all across the living room floor and back, though at the time I'd been embarrassed. It hadn't helped that Soda and Ponyboy had been horsing around, clumsily crashing into us as Soda tried to follow along with mom's lesson with Ponyboy standing on his feet. Soda must've been about nine or ten and Pony about six or seven. They about giggled themselves to death. But I could show a girl a good time on the dance floor, and I was grateful for that.

Maggie snuggled contentedly in the crook of my arm. I was pretty happy myself, just then. Too bad the rest of the world always had to go and cut in eventually. But not just now. I sat back, my left arm around Maggie, my right hand still cupping hers, wishing that I could stop time and just glide there with her. Just glide and glide while the rest of the world fell away and took all of my problems with it.


	29. Chapter 29

**_A/N: This chapter is very short because I originally had Chapter 29/30 as one chapter and it got WAY too long. 30 will be up very quickly._**

* * *

No matter how high you get to fly, you always have to come back down. Pulling into the drive, I wanted to just sit in the truck for a while, but Ponyboy was sitting on the sofa in the corner of the porch. It was just as I'd figured. He was reading that second L'Amour book, but he glanced over at the truck and grinned. Everybody liked to razz me about Maggie. Darry's got a girl, they cooed...until I gave them a look.

_Back to reality, Curtis, _I thought with a sigh.

A brief stroke of luck earlier had Ponyboy in the shower when Dr. Joseph called and gave me the name of a friend of his who was a psychologist. The earliest appointment I could get was for the following Friday. I wanted to push off having the conversation with him until the last minute, but I knew that wasn't fair. It would only be a comfort to me, and this was about Pony. Still, I didn't figure it would be a bad idea to wait until after dinner. Telling him before might make him lose his appetite. No sense putting him under more stress.

"You guys eat yet?" I asked Ponyboy as I ducked out of the rain, which had finally slowed to a light but steady dripping. He shook his head, his eyes never pausing their movement across the page.

Inside, I saw what I'd expect to see after Soda'd been cooped up all day: a few glasses and a scatter of cards on the coffee table, a couple hot rod mags on the sofa, canned laughter from the TV, the table fan whirring, and Soda sitting on his knees on Steve's back, laughing his fool head off as Steve tried to tear him off, swearing himself blue.

"Guys, clean this place up," I said, passing straight through to the kitchen, smirking as I heard what could only be Soda letting up and Steve rustling to his feet. "Steve!" I called. "Dinner?"

"Ah, no thanks, Darry," he said, leaning against the wall by the phone. "I'm going to take a pass tonight. See if my old man's check came in today."

That's right. If he didn't get to it first, it'd be gone by tomorrow morning. I nodded. "Alright. We'll see you." He slapped the wall as he left. A few seconds later I heard the screen door slap shut.

"Hey, Dar," Soda slapped my shoulder.

I glanced back at him. "Hey, Soda."

"What's in the bag?" he asked, peeking as I pulled out the lunch fixings Maggie had insisted I take home. She'd said she'd heard rumors about how much a couple of teen boys could eat. I didn't tell her that most of the time, no matter how much I groused, we had more than a couple hanging around. Or close enough, anyway.

"Leftovers," I said. "Go tell Pony to wash up and set the table."

"Did you tell him yet?" Soda asked.

"No, _I_ didn't tell him," I replied, irritated. "When would I have told him? The two of you were goofing around all morning, and then I left to go to Maggie's. Besides, you're going to tell him with me. Don't just dump this one on me and walk away." He looked at me, and I sighed. "Sorry. You know what I mean."

What I mean is, Soda would let me tell Pony alone and make him angry and let him decide it was all my fault because I was just mean old Darry and then later, probably at bedtime, he'd plop down on Pony's bed and sling an arm around his shoulders and tell him how I'm not such a bad guy, I'm just worried is all. Soda'd go around acting like it had been all my idea, you know, but maybe that I had a point and Pony should just humor me to make me feel better. Bad cop, good cop. Only this time, I'd decided, there would just be two bad cops who could hopefully turn into good cops in the end.

No matter how much I wanted to stall, the evening just kept moving forward the way it always does. We ate sandwiches, chips, and pickles in between Soda and Pony's questions about Maggie and their teasing barbs. It was Soda's turn to do dishes, so I stayed in the kitchen with him and by the sound of it, Ponyboy slipped back out on the porch to read his book. After last night, I peeked just to be sure. He was sitting on the top step this time because the radius of the porch light doesn't quite reach all the way to the sofa, though it isn't that far away.

Finally, we couldn't put it off any longer. If Pony didn't suspect anything when I strolled out and sat down on his left, he surely realized something was going on when Soda stood leaning against the porch rail on the other side. He put his book up and just looked at me, waiting.

"Pony," I said quietly, "we think it's time you went to see someone."

He sighed, and something flashed in his eyes before they went blank. "Another head doctor?" he accused flatly.

"Yep," I answered just as flatly.

"Just for a little while," Soda added quickly when Pony turned to him for help.

"Maybe we can find out what's causing the sleepwalking," I said.

"Darry, I don't–"

I cut him off. "It's not up for discussion, Ponyboy. You're going. Soda and I can't watch you every second. Locking down the house isn't a solution, it's a stop gap."

"Darry, there's–"

I held up one hand. "In case you don't remember, kiddo, you almost got hit by a car last night. So don't tell me there's nothing wrong. There's something wrong. And don't tell me you can't help it, because I know you can't. That's why you need to sort this stuff out with someone. We can't bank on one of us waking up every time you start walking in your sleep."

"You think I don't know that?" Pony leapt to his feet, angry now. He started down the porch steps, but then he turned back to us and yelled, "You think I don't know that you can't always be there? I knew it when a guy three times my size was screaming in my face from dawn to dusk, Darry! Let me tell you something…I got through that alone, I got through two hours on the Roster alone, four footballs alone, fifteen firewatches, almost four days and 60 miles of wilderness alone! I got through alone! Without you! Without _either _of you! It didn't matter if I was–if I was–"

He shook his head, his face breaking. He looked like he was going to cry, and he charged up the steps and skidded back to the corner of the porch over by the old sofa. He turned back to us, and his face had gone blank. But he was shaking so hard I could see him from the steps as I rose.

"Pony?" I asked, easing toward him a little. Soda, too, was watching him bewilderedly.

Pony didn't answer me. He just stared straight ahead, unblinking. He was breathing heavy, but his jaw was clenched tightly shut so that his breath blew in and out through his nose and made him snort like an agitated stallion.

"Ponyboy, cut it out and _talk _to us," I ordered, trying a harder approach. I immediately regretted it. Pony was absolutely rigid, his hands fisted at his sides. He was so tight, so clenched up, I thought he might snap at any second.

Wildly, I tried to figure out what had triggered this reaction. Soda was frozen in place behind me. When I glanced back at him he was wide-eyed and white-faced. Just as I put a hand on his shoulder, Pony made a sort of strangled sound and started chanting.

"Don't let go," he said, over and over. "Don't let go. Don't let go." And then, his mouth twitching, he whipped around and turned his back to us. "Don'tletgo, don'tletgo, don'tletgo," he said faster and faster.

I touched his shoulder. He flinched, but he let me turn him back toward us. If he saw either one of us, though, he didn't let on. _What do I do? What is it, Pony? What's hurting you?!_

His voice rose a little, desperation entering his tone until the words got so drawn out that he could only pant them, still so rigid I could tell he was growing exhausted from the fierce effort not to let go. Whatever that meant.

Out of ideas, not knowing what else to do, I stepped forward and threw my arms around him. Soda stepped to my side and threw one arm around each of us.

"C'mon, Pony," he begged. "Talk to me. Talk to _us_."

Ponyboy remained rigid, his hands still fisted at his sides. I sucked in a breath, horrified at how hard he was shaking. It was like trying to hold a jackhammer. He didn't answer, just kept drilling those infuriating words: _Don'tletgo, don'tletgo, don'tletgo._

Tears running down my face, I dipped my head until my lips were right next to his ear. "No, Pony," I said. "_Let _go." His breath caught, and the chanting stopped. Encouraged, I begged, "Let it out, Pony. Let it out," I urged. "Just let it go. I've got you…"

Finally, _finally _he broke with an indescribable cry. Just one long, sharp sound somewhere between a sob and a scream…and then everything he'd been holding back began pouring from him like furious rainfall.

* * *


	30. Chapter 30

I'd just finished reading Soda's letter, the one he'd written on July 4th. I was still disappointed that they'd cancelled the overnight, and he still didn't know about that yet. I was just thinking it was more of the same when a scuffle started behind me. I guess Greg was bored, not having received any new weapons or good snack food in his package, because he'd snatched Paul's letter and leapt up on his rack, letting Charlie hold Paul back.

"Dear Paulie," Greg batted his eyelashes, speaking in a falsetto tone, "Daddy and I miss you so much. We–" Paul managed to drop Charlie and now he dove against Greg's knees. He sure was pissed off, too. Greg had always been the ringleader, but after the whole strangling incident, there was no love lost between him and Paul, and Paul had clearly had enough of his shit. I was surprised to see he was a decent fighter.

I actually hated to pull him off Greg. That guy needed a good beating. But Kent would have my ass if I didn't do something, seeing as how I was Private First Class and all.

"You're on firewatch tonight, Puzo," I said, easing up on him a little. But he lunged again, so I leaned into him and forced him backward to his rack. "Finish up your letter," I said, snatching it out of Greg's hand as he got to his feet. I handed it to Paul. Greg gave me a look of barely restrained fury, but he just sank back down on his bunk and went back to looking at his own package.

I hoped that would be the end of it, but I should have known nothing was ever that easy in Rat City. When I looked up, Kent was standing at the end of the little hallway that led to his quarters, and I realized he'd seen the whole thing.

"Puny, Putz, outside!" he barked, slamming out of the barracks. Paul and I exchanged looks that said _uh-oh_, but we ducked outside, anyway. I could swear Kurt glanced up at me as I passed his rack to use the far door, and I could swear there was something in his look again.

Outside, Kent snatched me and Paul by the backs of our necks and shoved us around the back of the barracks. It was dark, with only a little weak moonlight to show us anything. I saw Kent pick something up.

Oh, shit.

Shit.

I'd seen a couple guys use those back home. You take a garden hose and you cut it so that you've got that metal piece at one end and just a cut hose on the other. You fill it with wet sand. You really pack it in hard so there's no air pockets. Then you put duct tape on both ends, and you've got yourself a nice homemade weapon. I'd seen a couple of Shepard's guys the day after they got worked over by one of those. It wasn't pretty. Rumor had it they both cried like babies, and you gotta know that Shepard's guys don't cry.

I wondered if that's what Kent did to Greg that time that he lost it and shouted right back at Kent. That time they'd gone out behind HQ, but I thought maybe Kent had used the hose on him. He'd sniffled in the dark afterward, sure enough.

Dread seeped through my bones like floodwater into a basement. Kent, who was probably just itching to take a crack at me now that my 2DLD were pretty much over, sneered, "Putz, you know the rules about fighting, do you not?"

"Yessir," Paul said, looking straight ahead. If you looked down, Kent would box your ear. Not both. Just one. Too much chance of permanent damage with both. But it hurt like the devil just the same, and Paul wasn't up for it, so he kept his eyes up.

It didn't matter. Kent slammed him against the back side of the barracks face first.

"And still you fought," Kent replied in a loud voice. He wasn't yelling full force. It was almost like he wanted to be a little quieter so no one would hear. "Puny," he said, "as Private First Class, you're going to administer your first punishment." He looked pleased with himself. His eyes were nearly twinkling like a kid's at Christmas.

I felt sick as he held out the hose. He wanted me to take it. To hit Paul with it. Paul, who wasn't doing anything wrong in the first place. But in Kent's eyes, he had. He'd delivered the first blow, so he was the only guilty party. The letter thing, that was nothing at all to Kent. Just guys being guys. Hell, he was probably getting a kick out of Paul's embarrassment.

When I didn't move, Kent kicked it up a notch. "Puny, if you don't hit Putz right now, I'm going to take that hose, and I'm going to hit _you_ until you can't get up anymore!"

I couldn't take that hose. I couldn't just grab it and hit Paul with it. We weren't friends. He hadn't exactly been an instigator, but he'd looked the other way when Greg played the heavy. And he'd helped Kurt tie me up for that night I spent as a human flag up on the Roster. But that was then, and this was now, and I couldn't talk myself into deciding that was enough of a reason to hit him.

Kent got tired of waiting for me to take the hose. "Ok, Puny, ok. You're gonna be a little sissy hippie's kid, huh? Don't want to hit Putz, huh? Make love," he cooed, "not war." And then he glowered at me in a way that made my insides go liquid. "Gonna be a brave big shot? Rather take the hits yourself than give the Putz just one?"

Pretty much. But I said nothing. He didn't want an answer. He just wanted to humiliate me. He laughed. It was a harsh sound, like how the devil himself might sound if he ever laughed. "So let's try this another way. You hit the Putz once, Puny, or I hit him ten times."

Dinner threatened to come up. God. What was wrong with him? How could anyone be so…tickled by this? But there Kent was, looking like it was his birthday and Christmas all at once. His face was shining as my stomach rolled and my palms began to sweat. I couldn't. I could not. I could not beat a guy just for defending himself. But my indecision just made Kent swing the hose and crack Paul across the back with it.

His cry rang in my ears and made me dizzy with disgust. Tears sprang to my eyes as Kent showed his teeth. You couldn't call something so cold and soulless a smile. And then he cracked him again.

"Just hit me, Curtis," Paul begged between his clenched teeth, struggling not to cry, himself. His whole body shook with it. If you cried, Kent would make you very, very sorry.

It made sense. Hit Paul once, even though I didn't want to, and it'd be done. Refuse, and he'd have to suffer another eight blows. I didn't have to take one to know how excruciating that hose was.

I hated Kent. God, I hated him. I thought of that knife tucked away in the ceiling, and for a second I wished I had it. But no. Look at what killing a guy had done to Johnny.

"Don't. You. Cry. Puny!" Kent spat the words, not an inch from my face. "If you cry," he threatened, "if I see _one_ tear, I'll hit Putz until he can't stand up again."

_Oh, God. Oh, God. Don't let go_, I begged myself, as near to crying without actually crying as I'd ever been. Kent just kept at it, right in my face, until I was shaking so hard, clamping down my jaw so tight to keep from crying that I thought my teeth would splinter into my head and kill me.

I didn't decide quickly enough for Kent's liking, so he smacked Paul with the hose again.

"Curtis!" he wailed, his face contorted in pain. "Just do it, dammit! Please!"

I clenched harder. _Don'tyoucry. Don'tyoucry. Don'tyoucry. _

No. No, that was worse. Something about the word 'cry' just pushed me closer to the thing itself. So I changed it.

_Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. _

The very last thing I wanted to do was take that hose from Kent, but Paul was in agony.

"_Please!_" Paul begged as Kent hit him again.

"Give it to me!" I grunted through my tightly clenched teeth, dizzy with the knowledge of what I was about to do. But Kent wouldn't put it into my hand. He made me reach for it, too.

"You hit him hard, Puny," he yelled, anticipating my plan before I did. "You hit him hard or you'll have to do it until I decide it's hard enough!"

My stomach went even more sour if that was possible, and my vision blurred with all those unshed tears. I cocked my arm back and saw Paul stiffen up, cringing before the blow even began. It would have been easier on him if he'd stayed loose…if his whole body gave with the swing.

The way he hollered as I made contact…it was so loud, so tortured. And Kent. The bastard just smiled. He smiled like he was having the time of his damn life. And suddenly a deep wanting coursed through me. I wanted to swing that hose again. At him. Horrified at the thought I might actually do it and thereby unleash all the forces of hell, I dropped the hose.

There was a roaring in my ears. I felt sick, horribly sick. I thought I would throw up, but no. No. Don't you dare. Don't. You. Dare.

Kent just sneered. "Rack it, Putz!"

_Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don't. Let. Go._

It trembled. It shook. Saltwater teetered on the edges of my eyelids. He could call Paul back. Just when it was finally over, he could call Paul back. He would.

_Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. _

"You want to hit me, Puny?" Kent knew. Somehow, he'd read my mind, what I'd been thinking. He knew. He picked up the hose. His eyes never left mine. There was a challenge in his. He wanted me to lose it. Just one escaped tear and he could call Paul back. Just one tear, and he could let that dark sickness free to smash and smash and smash until Paul's bones folded under his blows. Until he crushed Paul to death. And maybe me afterward.

It was a strange game, but it had rules. And though he was the most honor-less man I would ever know, he still respected the rules he'd created for his game. But there was no rule against pushing me. One tear. That's all he needed. It's all he wanted in the world.

And I'd be damned if I'd give it to him.

So we stood at a standstill until finally, he slammed me face first into the wall where Paul had just been and leaned in close. "Monday morning at 0800, you will be called to HQ to speak with the Colonel. I'm sure I don't need to remind you how much I can make you wish you were dead, but since you seem to be a glutton for punishment, let me say it again. If you badmouth me in there, if you cause me any trouble at all, you won't ever be going home."

And he left me there, shaking, knowing he'd gotten his point across.

Kent pulled Paul and I behind the barracks again the next night. Only this time, he ordered Paul to take his shirt off. I flinched at the sight of his back, ugly and blackened. Paul was silent, but he trembled.

It started up again, the fierce wave of tears, and me shaking with the effort it took to keep them locked away. This was an even greater injustice. Tonight, there'd been no fight. Not even the pretense that Paul had done anything to deserve the blow I had to give. Or maybe Kent was getting even with me for putting Greg on firewatch. Not because he gave a damn about it either way, but just because he could.

_Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo. Don'tletgo._

I didn't mean to say it aloud. Didn't even know I was, actually, until I heard Kent parroting it back to me.

"Don't let go. Don't let go," Kent sneered, mocking me, "Don't let go, sissy boy! Don't let go!"

He wanted it. He enjoyed it. It delighted him, my desperate struggle not to let him win. He got some sort of sick thrill. So I turned it off. I willed my face to go blank. Just stay blank.

_Stay blank. Stay blank. Stayblankstayblankstayblank. _

It was working. Kent wasn't sneering now.

"Hit him, Puny," he ordered sourly, "or I will!"

_Stay blank. Stay blank._

I don't know what happened. I think I hit him too high, like Dally'd done to me outside the church in Windrixville. I was trying to avoid the worst, deepest parts of the black. But Paul dropped. _Oh, God, Johnny! Your back…Johnny, your back!_

I don't remember how Paul got to his rack, but I remember he was there at lights out a few minutes later. Hell, I don't even remember how I got back to my rack. But I remember trying to stay awake, thinking about how Cicarello was going to want to get even with me for daring to put him on firewatch. I remember feeling...blank. Just like I wanted. Blank. Calm.

I don't remember if he was breathing. I remember the weight of bodies as we were piled into the cattle car, but I don't remember if he wriggled. The first guy they put in after me, I remember him breathing. But the two others...I just remember wriggling out from under one of them and the guy next to me doing the same. But I don't know who that guy was. And I don't know in what order Kent dropped us off, except that I was last.

I don't remember if Wade saw him alive or only dead.

What if it wasn't the fall that killed him? What if it was me?? What if it was that single, stupid blow I didn't want to deliver?

What if I killed him, Darry? What if I killed him?

I don't remember. I don't remember.

_Stay blank. Stay blank. Stay blank. Stay blank. Stay blank. Stay blank._

Oh, God. Why can't I just stay blank?

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry for the double story alert on Chap 30. I saw some big mistakes in the first posting...and I couldn't let them go like little mistakes! :P_**


	31. Chapter 31

_"__What if I killed him, Darry? What if I killed him?" _

With Ponyboy's anguished question ringing in my head, I tried to find words. I wasn't at all sure I could even speak. When he'd finally broken, finally _remembered_, he'd started off talking against my shoulder. Soda and I couldn't understand a thing, so we'd gently pushed him back. But we never took our hands off him. We kept him anchored when he might have withdrawn from us otherwise. He stared straight into the middle of my chest and just spit out the whole horrible story, his voice rising in a panic there at the end. Now I pulled him back against me, trying to absorb his violent trembling.

What could I possibly say to him to help? There were no words. _Did _Pony kill Paul? Was there any way we could ever know for sure?

"Ponyboy," I rasped, my arms tightening as he began to sob, "you're _not _to blame. You hear me?" I made sure my voice was good and firm for that part. "_Kent _did this. _Kent's _responsible for what happened to Paul, no matter who was holding that hose. You got that?"

He made a sound that might have been "yeah". I shook him a little and pulled him back so that I could say it again while looking him straight in the eye. Lord. His eyes were so haunted. I wondered if he'd ever recover, if anyone could.

"I didn't mean to, Darry! I didn't want it…I didn't want it, I swear!" He cried harder against me.

"Baby," I hissed, my own voice breaking, "I know that. _We _know that."

"Pony," Soda croaked. It was all he could manage. His hand went to the back of Pony's head, but mine was already there, rubbing gently.

Pony would sooner pick up the glass than pull a busted bottle on someone. Even someone deserving. To be forced to hurt someone…and then forced not to have a natural reaction to that....it would tear at _anyone's _soul.

I hated feeling so helpless against what that monster, Kent, had done. There was no other word for the guy. He was absolutely crazy. Because of what he'd done, what he'd made Pony do, he'd fashioned my brother into a walking time bomb. He couldn't handle what he'd done, what he might have done, so that terrible knowledge had been locked away. Pony wanted nothing more than to let it out, but it was too much. So if he got close to crying, the one thing he absolutely could not do, he had to lock it down. Lock it down hard, whatever it took, because the alternative was too much to bear.

All that anger, fear, and rage had no place to go. He'd stuffed it down and down and down until finally, like a spring-loaded weapon, it all spewed out of him in a violent rush.

He wept loudly against me as if he'd never stop. With me in front and Soda beside him, we stood rocking him between us until the worst of the poison emptied out.

* * *

I couldn't breathe. I was crying so hard I couldn't breathe. After fighting so hard not to cry, I was surprised to find I couldn't stop. I didn't want to pull back, though. I wanted to stay there, right there, right with Darry and Soda where it felt like no one and nothing could get me. I wanted to forget again, just put it back away. I didn't care if I had nightmares or if I walked from one end of the earth to the other in my sleep. I didn't want it, didn't want to _know_ it.

It felt like forever passed. I kept my face against Darry's chest, riding the crazy rhythm of his heartbeat until it slowed and took mine with it. I felt weak, like having the flu. My whole body hurt, I was freezing, and I felt like my legs were going to fold up at any second. I guess Darry felt it, too, because he sort of danced me backward. The next thing I knew, I was sandwiched between him and Soda on that ratty old couch, Darry's hand still stroking my hair, Soda rubbing my shoulder in those little circles that always help me sleep when I'm sick or scared. I sure wanted to sleep now. Just put it all back where it had been hiding.

"We're going to figure this out, Pony," Darry promised. "Everything's going to be okay…"

I just kept my eyes closed and listened to him, letting those promises wash over me. We'll figure it out, somehow. We'll figure it out. I let their comforting hands pull me down to a dark, quiet place without restlessness and searching, without fear and running.

* * *

We stayed there like that with Ponyboy until he was in a dead sleep against Darry's damp t-shirt, the sort where the whole world could explode around you but you wouldn't wake up. Darry and I just looked at each other over his head. He looked just as bad as I felt. Poor Pony. Poor, poor Pony. I don't know what I'd expected it to be, but I'd never even begun to imagine this thing that was eating him up. Not in a million years or for a million bucks would I ever have guessed it was anything that bad.

I know it doesn't sound fair. But Pony…he's just so sensitive, so emotional. Things hit him harder than they might hit me or Steve or Two-Bit. It's why Darry worries over him so much, because he takes things real hard sometimes. Things you wouldn't expect. But this…there was no such thing as taking this too hard. He wasn't being too sensitive or too emotional. He was just being like any other guy might be. I don't know what I'd do if I was in his place, but I'm not sure I wouldn't be half crazy. I'm not sure I wouldn't try to run away from it all just the same as he tried to. Just put it away and hope to God with everything in you that it stays put away.

It was sort of like with Johnny. With his death. Pony didn't want to accept it. Johnny was his best friend in the world. He always said there were only two people who understood him, two people who really ever tried to…me and Johnny. And when Johnny died…Pony tried to put that away, too. But we all loved Johnny, and I guess after a little time he realized we all wished we could pretend it hadn't happened. But this…Lord, he must have been terrified after what happened with Bob. He'd know it was the end of everything, if he killed Paul. If people knew it. But holding it in, that was like acid eating through his insides.

Pony told me how killing Bob had torn Johnny to pieces. How the guilt and shame ate at him, how he'd cried over it in that church. It was only for Pony that he'd done it at all. And Pony had only hit Paul to help Paul, to keep it from being worse on him than it already was. But knowing that he'd had to do it to save Pony didn't do much to make Johnny feel better. Knowing he had to hit Paul wasn't doing anything for Pony, either. I knew he just wanted Paul back and alive somewhere. He could never let go unless he knew for sure what happened. And since that might not be possible…

I shut my eyes and wished time could move backward. I'd wished it before, in the shower the other morning. That day, I'd wished I could go back all the way. But now…now I'd just settle for being in that courtroom listening to the judge hand down Pony's fate. And I do anything, _anything_ if it could come out any different than the judge ordering Pony to that camp. But that was just useless. It was no different than the pretending Pony had done over Johnny. It wouldn't help anything.

"Darry," I said quietly, "the only thing that's every going to make Ponyboy okay is if he can find out what really happened with Paul."

Darry looked miserable. He nodded. "I know."

I looked at him again. "The only way we can even try to find out…" I shook my head. "We'd have to call that camp."

Darry nodded again, unblinking. "I know."

"We could…they might take Pony away. It's not even his fault, but they might say maybe it was. Maybe things didn't happen the way he said. They could have him up for murder." I'd always thought a murder charge was something Dally or Tim might have to worry about one day. But Ponyboy?

"Yep," Darry agreed softly, still stroking Pony's head. I think at this point he was trying to comfort himself, since Pony was dead to the world. After a long silence he looked at me again. "I'm going to see if I can find Wade. You know, not involving the camp at all."

'Think you'll be able to find him?"

"I don't know. I'll make some calls. One thing's for sure. We can't start with Messner or any of the other idiots over in Raton City. We could probably talk to Miller," he said, "but first we'd have to go through Messner's office."

I hadn't thought that far ahead yet. But that was Darry. If you brought him something that even sounded like a problem, he'd have a half dozen possible solutions for you before you finished talking.

Darry looked down at Pony again. "We should put him to bed. Doesn't look like he'll be up until morning."

I nodded. Funny, though. Neither one of us moved.

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry so short. But it was just the natural stopping point. :)_**


	32. Chapter 32

I don't know which made more noise…the alarm or my own groaning. Soda and I must have sat out on that porch with Ponyboy until almost midnight, talking softly about just what the hell to do. I still wasn't sure we really came up with a decent plan, but I figured we had to try to find out something. Thinking about Ponyboy was like a floodgate opening; all the worries swirled back in.

My head felt about as heavy as my eyelids as I dragged myself out of bed. But then I shoved the curtains open. "You've got to be kidding me."

It looked like a repeat of yesterday, rain coming down in blurry sheets. Except it was a couple hours earlier than yesterday. Remembering that, I skidded to the kitchen to call Murphy, but he just said he didn't have anything for anyone today. It was too wet and too humid. Joint compound doesn't set right, paint doesn't dry. He tried to cheer me up by telling me it was supposed to start clearing off in the afternoon, but I was far from cheered.

The only good thing about it was that Soda and I wouldn't have to go off and leave Ponyboy completely alone. He's not a baby, but after last night... I just wanted to make sure he was okay. As much as he could be, anyway.

The house was silent. Soda wasn't supposed to be a work until ten, according to the calendar hanging beside the phone.

_What the hell. _I went back to bed, my eyes already closed before I fell on the mattress.

* * *

I woke up with Paul's face in my head, and Wade's words in my ears.

"Nah, man, Paul is…Paul is—I found him this morning," he'd said, a silent tear sliding down his bony face. "Looks like he fell down the mountain. I think he broke his neck."

Or _I_ did. I closed my eyes and tried not to sob. I knew I didn't have to be afraid anymore, but the reaction was still there. My whole body tightened, and my jaw clamped shut. I managed to ignore the words, though…to shut them down when they wanted to start marching through my head. _It's okay, _I told myself. _It's just Soda and Darry. They won't hurt me. Nothing bad will happen. _

Still, my body didn't relax until the tears that threatened backed off. I stared up at the ceiling, listening to Soda breathe loudly beside me. I was glad to have remembered exactly what Wade said about Paul, but I sure wasn't glad to know that Paul might be dead because of me.

And Randy might be headed that way, if I couldn't hurry up and remember something else that might help the police. I thought about that car again. Older. Like maybe 10 years old or so. But really beat up, too. Like it had been put together from a bunch of various car parts from the junkyard. One black rear quarter panel on a car that looked a little bit like a rusted tin can too many feet had kicked along the street. It didn't have a paint job, just primer and rust. And I couldn't shake the feeling I'd seen it somewhere before. But where? When? It could have been anywhere.

My body felt sore still. Achy, like the flu. My head hurt from all the crying. Maybe from all the sleeping, too. I felt like I could drift off again just the same. Just close my eyes and forget everything. But I knew Darry and Soda would worry themselves to death. I didn't want that. They'd been out of their minds already as it was. I was sorry I'd done it to them, not that I had any control over it.

I closed my eyes again, and I drifted along listening to the rain drumming on the window. Darry'd be mad. Two days without work. Just another worry to put on top. Like a big, fat fear sundae. He'd be grumpy, too, probably.

Soda was up, judging from the sounds of his bed creaking and the rustling sound of sheets being thrown aside. I knew he knew I was awake before he even sat on the edge of my bed and reached over to scrub my head.

"Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," I answered, keeping my eyes closed. I didn't want to see his face just now…everything awful and wonderful that would be there. It might set me off again.

"How ya feeling?"

I didn't answer, didn't know how. There was too much. Paul. The thought of him sent panic rising. Randy. Desperation creeped closer and closer. I wondered where he was, if he was okay. If he was curled up in a ball, silently willing me to save him, wondering why no one had come to help him yet. Me. The last person who'd seen him alive. Not that he was dead. Maybe he was. Maybe that's why the police hadn't found him yet. Maybe there was nothing more to find but a lifeless body. _Stop. Just stop._

"Pony?"

"Mmm?"

"What's going on?" Soda asked.

"Nothing," I answered. "Just thinking." I didn't need to tell him what about.

"We're gonna figure everything out," he vowed, much as Darry had promised me last night.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him that maybe we wouldn't. Maybe we never would figure it out. Maybe I'd never know what really happened that last night in camp, before we were grabbed from our sleep. And maybe one of us was permanently oblivious to being grabbed at all. Maybe I didn't know it all now. Maybe there was something else waiting to jump out some other day if I got too scared or too happy or too…anything.

I wondered if Darry would still make me go to the head doctor. I didn't want to. I didn't want to sit telling my whole life to some stranger who doesn't know me and couldn't give a spit about me except when it came time to collect Darry's hard earned money. Maybe telling Darry and Soda was enough.

"C'mon, Pony," Soda said, grabbing my arm. "Let's go get some breakfast."

I let him pull me up. There was no use arguing that breakfast wasn't going to make any of it better, that it wasn't going to melt the ball of ice that seemed to have settled in my stomach.

We made eggs and bacon together. He tried real hard to get me laughing. So much so that I wished I could oblige him, but that ball of ice sitting in my stomach seemed to be numbing me off so that it was like I was watching everything up on a movie screen.

Finally, he gave up and we sat with our plates, forking eggs into our mouths in silence. I glanced up at the calendar. He was working ten to six-thirty. Guess it would just be me and Darry, then. I wished it wasn't raining. Then Darry'd be working, too. I just wanted to be alone to think about things. Maybe if I had enough time to think without somebody checking on me every few minutes, maybe I could remember about Paul. Maybe I could remember what sort of car it was that took Randy and me.

I thought of those hokey TV shows where all you had to do to get the answers was hypnotize someone. I wished it were that easy. Just put me down on a couch and dangle a shiny gold pocket watch in front of my face until I zombied out, then ask me everything I wanted to know and wait for me to spit it out in a trance-like voice. I'd go to a head doctor if he could do _that._

After breakfast I did the dishes while Soda just sort of hung around watching me. I know he wanted to say things, but for once he couldn't find the words. If I could just snap myself into a happy mood, I would. I hated how sad it was making him, all this stuff I'd unloaded on him and Darry last night. But I was tired, too. Tired of being tip-toed around. Of loaded glances exchanged over my head like I didn't notice. I was sick to death of everything. Just…everything. I wished I could take a vacation from myself. Walk away from everything in my head. Maybe be Soda for a while, back when he was laughing and free and not weighed down by this crap that I'd created.

I thought of Dad, of how he always said you just have to keep pushing until you push through all the bad stuff, because something better is waiting on the other side. I wondered if he'd ever imagined the never-ending rows of bad stuff. What would he be thinking right now if he saw the way things were? What on earth would he and Mom be feeling if they were looking down at us, watching _us _like a movie? How would they feel watching us founder and drown?

God, if they _were _watching…they must feel just awful. I almost felt ashamed thinking of the mess. And it all started with me running away. Everything bad that had happened since that stupid night when I came in from the lot at two in the morning…it was all me. All my fault. Darry may have hit me, but the judge was right. If I didn't run off half-cocked like some dumb kid every time things got rough…

I didn't ask for anything Kent had dished out. I know that. But if I hadn't run off, I wouldn't have ended up in Rat City in the first place. And now I wouldn't be melting down right before everyone's eyes, knowing it was all messed up but not knowing how to fix it.

* * *

When I lifted my head again, I was shocked to see it was almost nine. The house was still quiet, but I knew Soda had to be up by now, if he had to be at work at ten. He'd want breakfast, for one thing.

Soda was at the bathroom sink, shaving. I nodded at him as I went by. Pony wasn't in their room, in the living room, or in the kitchen, so I figured he was back out on the porch with his book. I poked my head out to be sure, though.

He was out there, but he wasn't reading. He was just staring out at the rain, chewing his thumbnail, the book beside him on the couch. He didn't look at me as I sat down beside him. I stared out in the same general direction and wondered what he was thinking. It sure didn't show on his face. I had a pretty good idea he was thinking about Paul, of course, but you wouldn't know it by looking at him.

"Did you have breakfast?" I asked finally, since it was clear he wasn't going to offer anything up.

"Yeah," he nodded. Even his voice was numb.

"Looks like it's you and me today," I said, stretching. "Murphy called it off again. Too wet."

"Yeah," he said again.

I tried to think of something else to say. Maybe I should take him somewhere. Get him out of the house. Get him out of his head for a while. As much as was possible, anyway. Just as I was trying to figure out where, I heard the phone ring. If he even noticed me leave, I'd be surprised.

"Hello?" Soda had the phone. He looked at me and frowned. "Yeah, he's here. Why?" Soda bit his lip and then sighed. "Hold on." Looking at me, he said, "Officer Mahler wants to talk to you…"

I took the phone. A sharp little pain poked the center of my forehead, and I rubbed the heel of my hand against it. "Hello?"

"Darrel?"

"Yeah."

"Officer Mahler here. I was wondering if you'd given any more thought to letting Ponyboy come down and look through some photos for us."

"This isn't a good time," I said, thinking what an understatement that was.

"I understand, Darrel, but time is really of the essence here. We've exhausted several leads already, and–"'

"Look," I started to say, but Ponyboy was standing in the doorway.

"Darry," he said softly. "I'm okay. If I can help him," he started, shaking his head, "if there's any chance…"

I knew he must be thinking that maybe he could help Randy since he couldn't help Paul. It wasn't the same. It wasn't anything near the same, but I knew Pony hoped for a little redemption out of it. So I found myself agreeing to bring him by the station at eleven, though I was still far from crazy about the idea. But if Pony wanted it, it was hard to say no. If it would give him some chance at a little peace, I had to let him try.

"Thanks, Darry," he said after I hung up. "I know you don't want me to go there and talk to them," he added, looking at his feet for a second.

I just sighed and rubbed his head as he offered me the ghost of a smile.

* * *


	33. Chapter 33

I must have sat looking at mug shots for three hours. Mahler was really nice about it, actually, which surprised me. I thought he'd be bugging me every few minutes, but he stayed out of my way. Darry sat reading the newspaper Mahler offered. The cops might have been overly nice to him, offering him a drink or some food every so often. They kept me in Pepsi the entire time I sat there with him in the little windowless room, flipping through picture after picture.

Finally, I gave up. I had two guys who looked like the big guy in the Helsden shirt, but I couldn't really say for sure whether either one was the guy who grabbed me. Mahler sat looking at both of them for a few minutes, and he asked me if I thought either of them might really be the guy or if they just looked a lot like him.

"I wouldn't be surprised if one of them was him," I said. "But I don't know for sure."

"Have you thought about the car some more?"

"Yeah," I admitted, biting at my thumbnail again. It was ragged, and it bugged me. "But I still can't remember the make."

Mahler nodded. "Ponyboy, thanks for coming in," he said, rising. "We're going to have a closer look at these guys and see what comes up. If you think of anything else, don't be afraid to call me."

I nodded again. Darry was already on his feet. I bet he was bored out of his mind. He wasn't crazy about the whole thing to begin with, so he was probably more than ready to leave.

Outside, it was still raining, but at least it wasn't coming down in torrents any more. We ducked into the truck, and Darry gave me a lopsided grin. "Are you up for a burger?"

I was surprised to find that I was. But then I thought about the money. "Let's just go home," I said, closing my door. When he gave me a worried look, I shrugged. "Save it until you have enough to take Maggie out someplace."

He looked surprised and then a little annoyed. But then he just shook his head and smirked at me. "Whatever you say, Pony," he answered, turning out of the parking lot. But he was hiding a smile just the same.

I sat watching the world blur by. When we passed the power plant, I thought about Tim pulling me out of the street and shaking me. I didn't remember much about that night, but I remembered the panic in his voice and the…

"Darry!" I sat up in my seat, my heart thumping quickly in my chest.

Not knowing what was going on, he threw an arm out across me and slammed on the brakes. "Pony, what the hell–"

It was too early in the day for there to be anyone parked outside Helsden just yet, but I had to see for myself.

"Turn here," I said, as we sat at the corner of Ketchum and Lansford with other cars honking petulantly behind us. He gave me a look, but he did as I asked.

Just as I thought, there wasn't a single car parked at Helsden. But I wondered…

"Darry," I looked at him. "Do you think Tim is home right now?"

"How would I know?" He asked, looking a little irritated now. "Pony, what's this about?"

"I know I've seen that car before," I told Darry. "And I think it was the same car that almost hit me the other night."

"Are you sure?"

"No, but even if it wasn't the same car the other night, I know I've still seen it before."

I guess Darry figured I wouldn't let him alone unless we stopped by Tim's place, so he swung the truck around again and headed back through the intersection.

"Pony," he said, "Don't you think the cops have already checked every car parked at Helsden? And not just that but every guy who works there?"

"I don't know," I said. "Maybe."

"Probably," Darry corrected. Then he sighed. "Look, I know you want to help Randy. But I don't think this car is going to be easy to find."

Still, he pulled into the slumped little row of single story studio apartments that used to be a pay-by-the-hour motel. I went and knocked on Tim's door. Darry could see me from the truck, and I guess he was too annoyed with me to follow.

Tim didn't answer.

Instead of going home, though, Darry turned the truck the opposite direction. I looked at him, and he shrugged. "Let me worry about the money, Pony. And Maggie."

I grinned.

It was sort of strange hanging out with just Darry. I don't think we've ever just gone out anyplace without Soda, at least not since Mom and Dad died...unless you count registration for high school or the odd trip to the market. Well, except for the time we went bowling after Darry won the St. Louis trip. But that was the first time in a really long time that we've ever just hung around together without a specific purpose or errand. I wished I knew what to say to him, but the words didn't come easy like they did with Soda. And the only things there were to say were things he didn't particularly want to hear. So instead we just ate our burgers and fries and stared out at the rain. Finally, though, it was Darry who broke the silence.

"Will you be okay if I drop you off and stop at Maggie's place for a little while?"

"Sure," I shrugged. "I'm not ten, Darry."

He gave me a hard look. "I know that."

"Did she pick you to do her roof yet?" I changed the subject. If he wanted to ignore the obvious, I'd let him.

"Not yet," he grinned a little. "She's really nervous with all this rain. Says she keeps wandering the house looking at the ceilings."

"So you're gonna go over there and take her mind off of them?" I batted my eyelashes at him like Soda would be doing if he was with us. Darry took the bait and gave me a little kick under the table.

"Watch it, kiddo," he chuckled.

I turned a little red, in spite of myself. Soda's the only one Darry really talks about girls with. The rest of the time, when the other guys start poking at him about it, he just puts on his Muscles routine and gives them dirty looks until they shut up. And if they don't shut up, he shuts them up.

"When are you going to take her out on a real date?"

"Pony!" he threw a wadded up napkin at me. But then he shrugged and grinned sheepishly. "Soon as I get paid again, I guess."

"See?" I threw a french fry at him, shocked when he caught it in his mouth, chewed once, and swallowed it with a smirk. Darry usually gets ticked off if we horse around too much. Says he can't take us anywhere. "I told you you should save your money instead of getting hamburgers!"

He threw me another cross look. That's just another difference between me and Soda, in his eyes. It's not like he keeps the family finances a huge secret. And it's not like he minds if I do my part to pitch in. I worked at the railroad, after all, and he was more than happy to count on my pay just like he counts on Soda's. But he doesn't discuss them with me. He just collects the dough, gives me a little back for pocket money, and that's it. No discussion. It's like it embarrasses him to talk about money with me. I don't know why that is.

I decided to change the subject again, or at least get it off of money. "When do we get to meet her?"

"Who? Maggie?" he asked, startled.

"Who else?" I retorted.

He hadn't thought of that. We're only his brothers and all, but you could tell he hadn't even thought about it. That bugged me. And the fact that he didn't answer me bugged me even more. "Looks like it's going to start pouring again any second," he said, looking out the window at the sky. Then he looked back at the wasteland of crumpled napkins and empty wrappers our table had become. "We should get going." He was already across the room by the door, dumping most of our trash before I even poked the last of my hamburger into my mouth and limped after him.

* * *

The little brick house seemed fine from the curb, as it always did. Everything looked really green the way it does in the rain. Refreshed. Just pulling up to Maggie's place, I felt the same way. But I was relieved when I saw her car sitting under the carport.

Like always, her face lit up when she opened the door and saw me standing there, though I hadn't called first.

"Darry! Come in!" she exclaimed, pulling the door back.

"Thought I'd stop by and see how you and the roof are holding up," I joked.

"You think you're kidding," she laughed, "but I'm a nervous wreck waiting to see water dripping from the ceiling!"

"If you don't mind, I thought I might check the attic again," I said. "You could have a small leak there that might not show up inside the rest of the house for a little while."

So I pulled my ladder out of the truck and borrowed a towel so I could wipe the rain off of it, since the access was in the hallway between two bedrooms. I didn't want to drip all over her house. Still, when I got up there with a flashlight and looked around, I couldn't see any water glistening or any evidence of water that had been and gone.

"Well," I told her, coming down the ladder again, "so far, you're holding steady."

"Good," she breathed in relief. Once I put the ladder on the porch, she grinned at me and gestured to the porch swing. I grinned back and we took our seats. "I was just going to call you," she said. "I've had two other bids, but you're the one I feel good about."

Happy warmth rushed through me. I didn't know what to say. And it seemed like she was talking about more than the roof, which made even more warmth follow.

"When can you start?" she asked, and this time I laughed.

"Not until it dries out," I chuckled, lacing her fingers with mine. "And I've got to round up a couple of helpers. And get the materials."

She smiled. "Okay, so not tomorrow, then," she teased.

I shook my head. "This is going to have to be a weekend project," I admitted. "It'll probably take a couple of weekends to finish. In between, we'll have some tarping up there to keep you dry in case it rains."

She nodded. "Well, I'd tell you I can't wait until this roof is fixed so I can stop worrying, but I think you probably know that more than anyone by now."

I didn't tell her I couldn't wait to be the one to ease her mind about it, or that I'd miss having excuses to stop by her place. Not that I didn't want to see her. I just still felt like I needed a better reason than 'just because'. Maybe it was all the razzing from the guys that made me feel like I needed a reason at all. It wasn't Maggie, not with the way she lit up every time she saw me. You didn't light up like that just because the roofing guy was on your doorstep. Did you? I glanced down at our interlocked fingers. No. This was more than just roofing. The relief I felt at that thought almost made me laugh at myself.

"What's going on in there?" Maggie asked, nudging me.

I looked at her, at the soft contentedness written all over her face. "You," I admitted.

"Me?" The grin that spread across her face echoed in my whole body. "What about me?"

I shook my head. "I was just thinking how nice it is sitting out here with you." I'd sound like an idiot if I told her I was worried she wouldn't want me around after her roof was finished.

"You know," she said, "this is the best part of my days lately, when you stop by."

"Mine, too," I said truthfully.

We fell into an easy silence, then drifted into small talk. How was her day? Any workshops or meetings? Not a single one, turns out. She'd spent the morning nervously looking out windows and peering up at the ceilings. And then she heard a knock, and there I was.

"And everything felt better," Maggie smiled, wrinkling her nose up again. "What about you?"

I sighed without meaning to. I'd mentioned that Ponyboy knew Randy, that they went to school together. But I hadn't mentioned that he was the "unidentified teen" that had escaped from the car, so if I told her we'd been at the police station all morning looking at mug shots, she might wonder what sort of a kid Ponyboy was.

"Uh-oh," was her only reply. "Not a good day?"

"I've had worse," I admitted. I tried to find a way to put things. I didn't mind telling her about Soda and Ponyboy, but I sure didn't want to lay it all out yet. I couldn't think of anything better designed to start her running in the opposite direction as fast as her feet would carry her. "Ponyboy's having sort of a tough time lately, so that means I am, too."

She nodded. "What's going on?" When I didn't answer, she looked up at me. "You don't have to answer that."

I wanted to, but it seemed impossible to explain without having to explain _everything._ "I'm just trying to think of a short answer," I told her. "It's a long, long, very long story."

"They usually are, with family," she agreed.

"Sometimes," I told her, "Ponyboy has nightmares. They started after our parents died. A couple of weeks ago, he started sleepwalking, which he hasn't done since he was really little."

"Goodness," Maggie frowned. "Is something bothering him?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "We're trying to pull him through it, but he's having a rough time."

"Well, I hope he feels better soon," she said, squeezing my hand.

"I do, too," I agreed.

We rocked back and forth in the porch swing for a couple of minutes when suddenly a loud crack issued from the sky. We both jumped.

"Holy cow!" Her shocked laughter was an echo of my own.

"I sure hope this lets up soon," I said as our attention drifted to the rain, which picked up again. "It's been two days already. No work, no pay."

"The weatherman said it should clear up tonight," she offered.

"Hope he's right," I answered. "Seems like there's no end in sight." If I didn't get back to work soon, we'd be eating nothing but mushroom soup and beans just so we could make rent. Never mind taking Maggie out somewhere nice. I thought of Ponyboy telling me to keep my money. He had enough on his plate without worrying about stuff like that. Hearing him say it, I felt like I was letting him down.

"You're somewhere else again," Maggie teased, bumping my shoulder with hers.

"Just looking at my own ceilings," I teased back. Her laughter coursed pleasantly through me.

"Oh, I like that!" she giggled. "That can be our code for worrying our fool heads off."

I grinned. "Yeah," I agreed. "Just say 'ceilings' and I'll know to come to your rescue."

"You would, wouldn't you?" she asked, suddenly serious. "You're that sort of guy, aren't you, Darry? Always trying to help someone else, always worrying."

I felt my face going red. "Yeah, well, it goes with the territory, I guess." I couldn't remember anymore what it felt like _not _to worry about something.

"I'll bet," she said softly. Then she reached up and pressed her thumb between my eyebrows. "You're getting a worry spot there. Too many ceilings to look at."

I grabbed her hand. "Looking at you is a pretty good distraction," I told her, holding her thumb lightly in my fist.

She tipped her chin up at me, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. The world seemed to slow down a little as I freed her thumb and slid a finger there, hooking it under her chin. I brushed my mouth against hers, and my heart stuttered as her breath caught and she made a little breathless sound.

Her hand snaked up to stroke the back of my neck, and I took us a little deeper, easing my arm around her. She was soft and yielded against me, sighing sweetly. Something in that small sound socked me in the stomach and stole what was left of my own breath so that I was forced to pull back. Her eyelids lifted lazily.

"Oh," she sighed, blinking at me. "That was–"

I took a breath and pulled us both back under.

She sank like a stone, and I dove right after her.


	34. Chapter 34

Darry showed up whistling at about five, just after the rain stopped. In parts of the sky, you could see where the clouds were growing thin, like someone stretching dough out too far between their hands. Any minute now, those clouds would rip and sunlight would burst through.

I stayed where I was, flopped on the porch sofa, but I picked up the book in a hurry. If Darry knew I'd dozed off out here, he'd be freaked out. He's convinced any time I shut my eyes that I'll end up sleepwalking and getting myself killed. If he knew I didn't even have the locked front door to slow me down, he'd want to wring my neck.

I looked up at him and fought a grin at the sight of his face. He looked…settled.

"Sure took you a long time to check on Maggie's roof," I ribbed, tossing the book aside again and getting up. He looked a little startled at the sound of my voice. I realized with some surprise that he hadn't even noticed I was on the porch.

"Hey, Pony," was his only response.

I followed him inside. "Did she decide on a roofer yet?"

"What?" he asked, still distracted. And then I guess he stopped and let my question hit him. "Yeah. She gave me a deposit this afternoon. That's why I was gone so long. Had to go by the bank and put the check in so the funds will be available by the weekend."

Somehow, I didn't think Darry's whistling was because he was excited to spend a couple weekends doing what he already did all week long.

"What about you, Pony?" he asked. "Anything going on?"

"Nope." I was glad to see him, though. I was getting pretty bored just hanging around the house with nothing to do. Everything was clean. I think Darry realized it, too, when he finished in the bathroom. He sort of looked around and then looked a little lost. But then he gave me a lopsided half grin.

"Place looks nice," he admitted. "Social worker call?"

"Nah. I'm just bored. You don't want me going anyplace, and everybody's working. I'm almost finished with those books you got me, so…" I shrugged.

"Maybe we should swing by the library before it closes," he suggested.

"Closed already," I told him. "Remember? Summer, it closes at three."

"Shoot, you're right," he agreed, poking around in the icebox. "Whose night is it to cook?"

"Soda's," I said. "but since he's working, maybe we should just do it."

"Maybe," he agreed, still peering inside, checking the butcher's scrawl on a few white paper packages in the freezer compartment. Not that anything had time to thaw out at this point.

It felt a little bit like old times, when he'd come in from football practice and stand with his head in the fridge until Mom or Dad chided him, saying not to let all the penguins out. So I said it, instead.

He turned to look at me, laughing. "Geez, I remember that," he said, closing the icebox obediently. "Don't let the penguins out," he repeated to himself.

"When I was really little, I used to peek in there whenever Mom and Dad weren't looking, trying to get a look at the penguins," I admitted sheepishly. Darry laughed again. It was nice to hear.

"That explains those times I'd see you yank the door open, then close it again real quick."

I chuckled. "I thought if they were in there, they must hide behind stuff whenever we opened it up. Otherwise, I'd have seen them."

Darry shook his head, amused, and started looking in the cupboards, instead. "We've got tuna," he said, "and chili. And…what the heck do you suppose this is?"

He brought out a can without a label. We considered it together for a minute.

"How long do you think that's been in there?" I asked as he turned the can upside down. There were no markings on it whatsoever. Just the ribbing of a tin can and a couple of glue spots where the label had once been anchored.

"Your guess is as good as mine. It was pushed in the corner." Darry plunked it back on the shelf. "Maybe one of these days we'll get Soda Surprise."

I laughed. "Don't give him any ideas."

We settled on macaroni and cheese with hot dogs cut up in it, and Darry added a can of green beans to the boxes by the stove. Then he realized Soda wasn't off work until six-thirty. Starting dinner now would mean Soda'd get nothing but cold, clumpy leftovers.

So we baked a cake, instead, seeing as how there was none left in the icebox. I like it better when Darry makes it because Soda always puts too much sugar in the icing. We worked silently together on it. I sifted the flour, he leveled off the sugar, I added the eggs and the cocoa, he poured in the oil, and I plugged in the mixer.

"Here," Darry said, unplugging the mixer again once the batter was as lump free as it was going to get. He handed me a beater. As one, we moved to lick them over the sink, almost like one of those comedy skits where two people stand facing each other and it's supposed to be like there's a mirror and one of them is the reflection of the other.

I never thought about it before, but sometimes me and Darry are like that together. We haven't been, not for a long time. It's as if the mirror broke when Mom and Dad died, and neither one of us could see the other anymore. But just now, right in this moment, it was like someone found all the pieces of the mirror and glued them back together again. And I felt relief. Like "_Shit, there you are! Where've you been?" _I wouldn't be a bit surprised if he was thinking the same thing.

He grinned at me, and I realized it was because I'd been grinning at him. "What?" he asked, watching me curiously.

I shrugged and felt my face burning a little. I shook my head. "Nothing," I said.

"No," he challenged. "What is it?"

"Just," I shrugged, "I don't think we've done this for a really long time." I wasn't talking about cooking. We cooked all the time. But he knew, I think. He knew what I meant.

Understanding lit his eyes. "Guess we haven't," he agreed. Like one again, we tossed our spit-shined beaters in the sink. He poured the batter into the pan and put the cake in the oven, and I set the little timer knob. I grabbed the bowl, with its few remaining streaks of chocolate batter, waiting for Darry to take the bait. He looked at me for a second, and I knew he was trying to decide if I was going to dive to the right and back, ducking behind the safety of the kitchen table or if I'd go to the right and front and dive through the kitchen doorway.

I guess he guessed wrong, because I made it out the kitchen doorway before he could grab me, and I taunted him from the other side of the coffee table, scooping up a big ribbon of chocolate and licking it off of my index finger.

"Keep it up, kiddo," he warned, smirking. "You just keep teasing me and see what it gets you."

"Oooh," I joked at his mock-threatening tone, diving left toward his chair. He darted toward me in a quick movement.

I thought I was clear, but he managed to grab my elbow. I switched the bowl to the other hand, though, and tried to keep it out of his reach. By this time, I was laughing like a loon. It was pointless, anyway, because Darry's got longer arms than I do. I wound up on the floor, Darry pinning me lightly. He scooped a bunch of chocolate out and ate it, and then he scooped some more and tried to shove it in my mouth. But now I didn't want it, and the odd sound of a laugh trapped behind my pursed lips made him laugh, too.

"You wanted it all to yourself, big shot," he taunted, "so take it! Here!"

When he couldn't get my mouth open, he smeared it over my clamped lips. I gave up and breathed, licking at my mouth, which probably looked like a clown's only with chocolate instead of red lipstick. And then I saw past Darry's shoulder that someone was in the doorway, watching us through the screen door.

I nudged Darry, screeching in his ear, "Mrs. Davis!"

You'd think a rocket went off under him. He was on his feet so fast I went dizzy watching him. Then, looking embarrassed, he held a hand down to me and hauled me up. I took the bowl and limped into the kitchen as he let in our caseworker, Mrs. Davis. Guess this was one of the unannounced visits. We'd been expecting a call, but sometimes they like to spring a visit on you. After all, you could do a lot of fixing up with enough notice.

"Looks like you were having fun, there," I heard her tell Darry. "I'm sorry I interrupted."

"That's okay," he said, somewhat breathless still. "Just blowing off a little steam."

"I heard Ponyboy had quite an adventure at camp," she went on. I could already picture her perched on the edge of the sofa, pulling our thick file out of the large bag she carried. She'd want to make notes of anything Darry said. Except Darry didn't say anything, so she continued. "I'm here to talk about that and also the follow-up hearing later this month. Did they tell you they've assigned a new judge?"

"Ah, no," Darry was surprised. "I hadn't heard that."

"Well, Darrel, that's a very good thing for you," Mrs. Davis said pleasantly. "Judge Harmon's decision to sentence Ponyboy to nine weeks of military camp didn't sit well with the district attorney, in light of what we've been told went on there. The hearing has been reassigned to Judge Watts. He's tough, but he's firm."

I busied myself with small things like cleaning up my chocolate smeared face and washing the items we'd dirtied up making the cake. I heard them walk the house for the customary inspection, making sure it was clean and there were no top-secret torture devices left lying around, as Darry likes to say.

I like Mrs. Davis. She seems, more than the other two caseworkers we'd had before her, to really be on our side. Like she's silently rooting for us to make it. I couldn't say that with Mrs. Jacobs, the sour woman with the rough voice who'd had us first. I'll never forgive her for making Darry so unsure of himself and his decision to keep us all together. She wanted Darry to sign us away to foster homes so he could finish school. She kept telling him he could do more for us that way than by quitting college and throwing everything away. But he said we needed him now, not in a few years. She hadn't liked Darry at all.

The second one, Mrs. Phillips, she wasn't as bad as Mrs. Jacobs, but she was more inclined to see the bad stuff than the good. If she'd walked in on Darry and me goofing around on the rug, she'd have said Darry was being too rough with me. She wouldn't mention our laughter or the light mood or the fact that we were having fun. Just the bad stuff.

Mrs. Davis clicked into the kitchen in her customary sensible shoes. "It smells good in here," she said, smiling a little. "What are we making?"

"Chocolate cake," I said, grabbing the potholders as the oven timer chose just that second to go off. I barely set the pan down on top of the stove before Darry was sticking a toothpick in the center to see if it was done. It was.

"You're making me envious," she said, clicking back out of the kitchen. "Ponyboy, can you come in here?" She asked over her shoulder.

Darry slapped my back. This is the part where he's supposed to make himself scarce so she can talk to me privately. He stayed behind in the kitchen while I went into the living room. I sat down at the other end of the sofa.

"Ponyboy," she said, "I've been reading a report submitted to the court by a Sergeant Thomas Miller and a First Sergeant Aaron Kitchner. Part of your sentence to the military camp required a final report by camp personnel as to their recommendations for the final disposition of your case. I can't tell you what it contains. That's up to Judge Watts to share with you as he pleases at the end of this month, but I wanted to tell you we are fully aware of the challenges you experienced there. I was wondering if you had anything else to add."

How would I know if they wouldn't let me see what the report said? Aloud, I said, "I'm not sure what to say that probably hasn't already been said."

"Maybe," she agreed. "How are you feeling now, being back home?"

I shrugged. "It's…weird."

"Weird? How so?"

I glanced back toward the kitchen. "I've been having trouble, sort of. You know, sleeping. And I hurt my knee, so Darry wants me to stay off of it as much as possible, but it's driving me nuts just sitting still all the time. At camp, we were always supposed to be somewhere doing something, and now I'm here and there's nothing to do."

She nodded. "No schedule, no routine."

I nodded. "Yeah."

She smiled. "Maybe that means it's time to take it easy, enjoy the rest of summer before school starts."

I nodded again. "That's what Darry and Soda have been saying." I didn't tell her how it made me feel guilty and nervous, sitting too long without doing something. I didn't tell her about Kent, and I sure didn't tell her about Paul.

I'd never been sorry when she'd come before. Nervous, sure. Caseworkers always made me nervous, because no matter how nice they seemed, they had the power to change so much…to pull us apart even when we wanted to stay together. But I'd never been sorry she'd come. I was sorry now. I didn't want to think about camp, not tonight. Not when Darry and I finally found a place we'd lost. Because I didn't want to lose it again, that place where, just for a few minutes, he was just my brother again. Just Darry. Not Mom or Dad or what he thought he should be or had to be. Just Darry. And just me. Not some messed up kid who'd lived one nightmare after the next for the past two years. Just me.

We talked idly for a few more minutes. Or, at least, it seemed idle to me. For her, it was probably fraught with meaning. Every subtle tone of my voice, every slight motion of my body. It felt like she was reading me…everything I said, everything I didn't say. And I went from feeling good about her, about the fact that she seemed to want to keep us together, to feeling uncertain. It couldn't be Darry's fault, any of it. Camp was miles away from home. He'd had no reach there. No control whatsoever. But maybe she didn't like what was happening now that I was home. Maybe she somehow knew everything, even though I hadn't been specific about things.

As soon as she was gone, I realized Darry had started dinner without me. Not five minutes after she pulled away did he have me back on the couch with another ice towel. Back to his normal self, or at least the self I was used to living with these days. Then he smirked at me, just a little, before turning back to the kitchen.

He didn't say a word, yet with that small twitch of his mouth, he said everything I wanted to hear.


	35. Chapter 35

I sat on the couch listening to Darry bang around in the kitchen and trying to sketch that car, but just like with the Stovepipe, I couldn't get that just right, either. The problem was I couldn't quite see the trunk area, which I figured made sense since that would be where the make would be. Since I couldn't remember what kind of car it was, I naturally couldn't remember just how the trunk looked. So then I tried drawing it at an angle, showing the black quarter panel. I hadn't really seen the right side of the car.

I was also thinking about the hearing as I shaded the car, wondering what the new judge would be like and whether he would keep the three of us together. I figured he would, seeing as how Mrs. Davis had said it was a good thing. Still, I was worrying over it when Tim came wandering in.

"Hey, Hemingway," he nodded at me. "Muscles in the kitchen?"

"Yep." I thought sure he'd head in there, but instead he sat down at the other end of the couch, just past my feet. "Hey, Tim," I glanced toward the kitchen. Darry had the sink going. "The other night, that car…"

He looked at me. From the expression on his face, he didn't like where I was going. "What about it?"

"Did it have a bunch of different parts on it? I mean, like somebody put it together in a junk yard?"

"Most all the cars around Ketchum look like that," he shrugged. That was true. Ketchum was lined up and down with places like Helsden, and all the bouncers, bartenders, and even the patrons drove beat up old cars. No sense putting your pride and joy out in the lot to get spit on or worse.

I realized that he wouldn't have seen the car from the left, but I showed him my sketch, anyway. "Did it look like that?"

He took my sketchbook and looked at the drawing. If I hadn't been watching his face so carefully, I might've missed the little twitch in his jaw. He lifted his eyes to my face, and they were darker and meaner than I'd seen them in a long time.

"Chopper Davis was driving the car that almost hit you. It's a Buick. This here car ain't a Buick," he said, tossing the book back.

"Ever seen a car like that?" I asked.

He just looked at me again. It took him so long to answer that I knew he had. "Once or twice. Why?"

I wondered if he already knew the answer. Seemed to me he had to, what with the way he looked at me. "That's the car those guys put Randy and me in," I replied, watching him every bit as carefully as he watched me. There! There it was again, that little twitch. "Do you know what kind it is?"

"Chevy," he answered. "210," he added, rising from the couch. He disappeared into the kitchen before I could ask him anything else.

I thought about that, wondering if he'd been straight with me. If I took that to Mahler, would it help? I wondered what Tim knew that he wasn't saying. He knew that car. He knew who _owned_ that car. I'd bet anything on it, on that little twitch of his jaw and the way his eyes got dangerous.

I heard Darry saying something to him, but I couldn't make out their conversation. Probably telling Tim about the job on Maggie's roof, asking if he would help. I was pretty sure he would.

I was surprised when Tim left a few minutes later. I thought he'd stay for dinner, but he just told Darry he'd see him on Saturday morning and left. He glanced at me as he went by, but he didn't say a word. I wondered if he was leaving because of what he knew about that car. He looked like he wanted a fight.

Not long after Tim left, Steve shoved Soda good naturedly across the threshold, muttering something about not saving his ass next time. I figured Steve covered for him at work somehow so one girl or another wouldn't realize she wasn't the only girl in Soda's universe. That happened a lot, two girls he'd flirted with running into one another, each one thinking they were his one and only. Dumb girls deserved what they got, I figured. But then again, Soda didn't mean anyone any harm. He just loved girls, and he could find something to fall half in love with in each and every one. This one's hair, that one's smile, her laughter, the way she looked at him. Everybody had something, as far as Soda was concerned. He couldn't settle on just one. I wondered if he ever would again. After Sandy ripped his heart out like she did, he seemed content just to browse.

Soda grinned down at me. "Hey, Pony!"

"Hey," I grinned back. He didn't stop, just headed on back to the bathroom to clean up. Steve, in his usual fashion, tipped his chin at me in lieu of wasting any precious words. And then he headed into the kitchen and said hello to Darry. I rolled my eyes.

Two-Bit burst in a few seconds later with a crack about how he thought he'd have to build a boat to make it to our place. "It's like the demolition derby out there. A little rain and everybody goes nuts. Almost had me a new hood ornament. Some old guy threw his brakes on five million feet away from the stop light!" He shook his head.

I tossed my sketchbook aside and threw the ice towel at him. "Take that to Darry," I said as he scrambled after it. He caught it and sneered. I sneered back, laughing.

"Hey, Superman!" Two-Bit cried, and I could tell by Darry's oath that Two-Bit pulled the same thing on Darry that I'd just pulled on him, and it caught Darry by surprise. "Ow!" Two-Bit laughed, ducking through the kitchen door. "Pony, your brother's beating on me again!" He yelled it in Darry's general direction.

I leapt on Two-Bit as Darry poked his head out. "I've got him, Darry! You can finish him off now!"

Darry looked amused as Two-Bit fought against me, dumping me to the floor. I held on, though, and took him with me. "Pony, watch that knee," he said, disappearing down the hall.

Two-Bit gave me a good natured shove, but in the next second, he hauled me to my feet. "Yeah, Pony," he smirked, "why are you trying to get me in trouble?"

Since Darry and Soda were taking up all the space at the bathroom sink, I squirted a little dish soap on my hand and washed up at the kitchen sink. Steve picked a piece of hot dog out of the macaroni and popped it in his mouth before pushing away from the counter.

"See you," he said as Soda appeared in the doorway.

"Where're you two goin'?" Two-Bit asked, giving me a little kick to get me out of the way so he could wash his hands.

"Out," Steve said flatly.

"You're kidding. Wow. Out. I've heard about that place," Two-Bit joked.

"Stevie's buying me dinner," Soda teased, slapping Steve on the back.

"I wouldn't let him do that if I were you," Two-Bit shook his head. "Next thing you know, he'll be thinking you owe him something." He puckered his lips at Steve.

"Save it for your mama, Two-Bit," Steve snorted. Soda just laughed and pushed him into the living room. A few seconds later, the screen door slapped shut in their wake.

I'll bet Darry was surprised to find it was just me, him, and Two-Bit for dinner, which wasn't any worse than me, him, and Soda. Two-Bit rambled about a guy at work who'd nearly had a meltdown over a typo in the _Nickel _that changed "Happy Hour, Girls Eat Free at Charley's" to "Happy Hour, Eat Girls Free at Charley's". We all laughed, though I got pretty red-faced and Darry shot Two-Bit a look.

"'That Smith, he's a good Christian man,'" Two-Bit mimicked a deep, angry voice, "'and how dare someone mess with the copy like that!'" He laughed. "He just knew somebody did it on purpose. 'That is no accident! That is depraved and completely inappropriate for family reading! If Bill sees this, we'll all be fired!'"

We were all laughing so hard we couldn't eat. When he could finally speak, Two-Bit stuttered, "I told–I told him, 'Bill's in his office pissing himself laughing right now, you'll have to catch him later!'"

Two-Bit kept up the chatter all the way through dinner and through the dishes. I was glad for it, because I was busy thinking about Tim and that car, wondering what he knew that he wasn't telling. He knew something. I wasn't imagining that. But what was he going to do with that information?

Water splashed me in the face. Two-Bit grinned at me. "Wake up!" he chuckled.

"I'm awake!" I grumbled, splashing him back. Then Darry wandered in for a glass of water, and we cut out the waterworks. When he wandered out again, Two-Bit asked,

"Whatcha thinkin' so hard about? Your brain was starting to smoke." He giggled at his own joke.

"I asked Tim about the car, the one that those guys had me and Randy in," I admitted. Two-Bit scowled.

"What'd you do that for?"

I shrugged. "I thought maybe he'd seen it before. I know I have, I just can't remember where."

"Heard the news lately?" It was obvious from how serious his face got that he'd heard something, and it was big.

I looked at him. "No," I said carefully. "Darry won't let me watch. Any time the news comes on, he turns the channel. And he's been putting the paper in the garbage."

Two-Bit glanced at the door. Then he looked like he was trying to decide whether or not to tell me what he'd heard. "They gave Adderson two more days to come up with that ransom. Said if they didn't get it…" He didn't finish. I think he realized telling me had been a mistake because he said quickly, "I'm sure they're just bluffing, Ponyboy. That's how it works. You give a good bluff, you win the hand, right?"

Maybe. Or someone called you on it and you lost everything.


	36. Chapter 36

I turned the knob, walking forward at the same time. Smacked myself silly when the door didn't open. Shoot. Forgot. We're locking the deadbolt now. Key, key…where's the damn key? I knocked it off the jamb and it bounced off my hand. I chased it downward, missing again and again. Man, I shouldn't have had that third beer. Darry always says I'm a light weight. I hardly ever drink, anyway, but tonight I just said what the hell. Didn't help that it had been several hours after we ate, either. Clumsy. Clumsy, clumsy. Sodapop's all fuzzy with a buzz. I smiled at that thought.

It took me another few seconds to fit the key in the lock. No wonder girls don't like getting friendly when a guy's had too much to drink. Can't be too fun, all that hit and miss. I chuckled softly at my own joke, pressing the door closed and locking it back up. The house was dead silent.

Cool water from the bathroom tap woke me up some and took a little of the buzz with it. And it let a little reality back in. We'd seen a clip of the late news at Mike's place. I was sure glad Darry was being so strict with Pony, because I know he'd be really rattled if he knew what those kidnappers were promising to do if they didn't get their money in two more days.

It took over the whole table for the next several hands of poker. Do you really think they'll kill him? Where they heck do they think the money's going to come from if the pension fund is empty? Where do you think they'll dump the body if they kill him? Probably on the train tracks. Or maybe Dixon Pond.

I brushed my teeth and thought about Pony, how he liked to swim there. But I couldn't tell him to stay away without telling him why. I rinsed and spit and tossed my toothbrush back in the medicine cabinet. Time for bed. I was not going to like myself in the morning when the alarm went off, that's for sure.

I had my shirt up over my head, so I didn't notice right away. But then I saw and heard Pony and my stomach turned. He was all stiff, his fists clenched, and he was breathing real funny. His mouth was working like he was trying to say something, and I bet if he was awake it would be more of that 'don't let go' stuff. He was pale and shaking and damp with sweat.

"Pony," I whispered, sitting down next to him. I put my hands on his wrists. He didn't seem to hear me. "_Pony_!" I said a little louder. I didn't want to scare him half to death. But he still didn't hear me. He stayed asleep, trapped in his head, in whatever awful moment he was dreaming. "Ponyboy!" I urged, moving my hands to his shoulders and shoving gently. Darry appeared in the doorway, groggy as hell but worried just the same. "He won't wake up," I said. "PONY!" I practically shouted it, but he just turned his head to the side and sort of moaned.

Darry disappeared from the doorway. I looked back at Ponyboy. What if he was trapped asleep forever? What if he just wouldn't wake up? Was that possible? Was–

Darry eased down on the other side of his bed and put a firm hand on Pony's chest. "C'mon, Pony!" he called. And then wincing, he gently pressed the ice cube he had in his other hand against Pony's neck.

Pony jolted awake with a loud gasp, his eyes wild and his breath ragged.

"Take it easy," Darry said, touching his forehead.

"What?" Pony gasped, his voice tight. "What?"

"Nothing," Darry said. "You were dreaming."

Pony looked at him, then looked at me, seeing us, I think, for the first time. He struggled to sit up. I helped him. "You're okay," I said, feeling his shoulder tremble under my hand.

"Man," he sighed, rubbing his face with his hands.

"It looked bad," Darry said softly, rubbing the back of his head. "Want to talk about it?"

He shook his head, but then he said, "Just…more of the same. Out behind the barracks," he added. "Only Randy was there, too. And I–I–"

"Don't," I said. "It ain't real."

"I know," he nodded. "But I left him for real," he croaked, his voice catching.

Darry's eyes closed, and he looked pained. "Pony," he said quietly, "you didn't leave him. Not the way you're thinking, anyway. If you weren't here, with us, the police wouldn't have any ideas at all."

Pony didn't answer. We all just sat quietly for a couple of minutes, the room silent except for the sound of Pony's breath, which gradually slowed.

"C'mon," Darry said after a couple more minutes, "lie down."

Pony did as he said. He already looked half asleep again. Not Darry. Darry looked miserable…tired and miserable. And wide awake.

"It's ok, Darry," I said. "Pony'll be okay. Won't you?"

He nodded a little. "Yeah. Go back to bed, Darry. It's going to be a long week for you, fixing Maggie's roof all weekend," he mumbled.

Darry's mouth tugged up at the corners just a little. "You sure?"

"Scooch," I said to Pony, flopping down next to him when he wiggled closer to Darry. Darry just looked at us for a minute, and he ruffled Pony's spiky hair for a second. Then he got up.

"Night, guys," he said.

"Night, Darry," I said. Pony slurred something unintelligible and rolled toward the window. I rolled the other way, putting my back against his. Contact always seemed to help, but it didn't seem to matter whether it was my hand or my arm. Or my back.

If he dreamed at all again, I didn't notice.

* * *

I felt like a zombie as I moved around the kitchen, pouring coffee and sitting down with it and the rest of last night's dinner. I barely noticed the taste of cold pasta with hot dogs. Two more days. Just two more days, and then maybe Dr. Pierce, that friend of Dr. Joseph's, could help. I didn't expect miracles, but I sure hoped to see some improvement.

I know I kept my cool, but the fact that we couldn't wake Pony up last night scared the hell out of me. Maybe we should stop with the sedatives. They pull him down just enough to keep him asleep, but not enough to help him. Like when he sleepwalks. We can't wake him up then, either, but he still sleepwalks.

I didn't want to go to work, but there wouldn't be any use in staying home. Awake, he's ok. Not great, of course, because he's still got all of this junk on his mind when he's awake. But these days it seems he's a lot safer when he's awake than asleep.

I needed to start those calls, see if I could track down that Wade. First Sergeant Aaron Kitchner, actually. But Ponyboy just calls him Skinny Wade. I'd have to find a way to get Pony out of the house, though. I didn't want him to know what I was doing. That way, he wouldn't get his hopes up about finding any answers.

Soda came stumbling out just as I was filling the empty casserole dish with water. Knowing Pony, he'd wash it well before dinner. Soda nodded at me, his eyes still half shut. "You leaving?"

"Just about," I agreed, heading to my room for my work boots. "Listen," I said as he followed me, "I want to get Pony out of here for a while tonight so I can make some calls. I don't want him here when I try to find Wade."

Soda nodded. "Ok."

"How late do you work tonight?" I asked, sitting on the edge of my bed to put on the boots.

"Four," he yawned.

"I'll probably get off around four, myself. Why don't I swing by the DX and pick you up?" He nodded and turned to head back down the hall. "Maybe you'd better wake him up before you leave," I suggested. What if he had another dream and we weren't here to pull him out of it? What if he started sleepwalking again?

Soda frowned. "I guess you're right. I hate to do that, though."

"I know," I said, rising. "But I'd hate to think about him caught up in a nightmare with no one here."

Soda's frown deepened. "I guess."

"Alright," I said, scooping my keys off the counter, "I'll see you around four."

Locking the door behind me still felt strange. I suppose I didn't have to, since Soda was up, but I also didn't want to fall out of the habit. I hoped we could go back to leaving it unlocked after a while.

School was going to be starting soon. I'd be lying if I said I haven't been dreading it. What if Pony's nightmares didn't let up? What if he kept sleepwalking? It was sure to play hell on his grades. Then again, having a place to be and other things to think about would probably be really good for him. All that studying might wear out his mind, allow him to sleep soundly.

I looked at the sky as I got into the truck. Bright blue and nearly cloudless, it made the world look fresh again. The air was pretty warm, but not as unbearably hot as the week before the storms had rolled through. I thought of Maggie. She was probably very relieved this morning, if she was up yet. No more watching the ceilings.

If only I could stop watching mine.

* * *

"Hi, handsome," Two-Bit pretended to flip his hair. "Fill me up?"

I grinned. "Not even in your dreams," I answered, twisting off his gas cap. "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be at work?"

He sighed. "My old man had me on the early shift today. Had me running all over the place."

"You gonna hang around for a while?"

"Guess so. Why?"

I shrugged. "Just wondering. Anything new on the news?"

"Haven't heard anything," Two-Bit shrugged. "Why?"

I frowned. "Pony had a bad nightmare last night. We couldn't wake him up at first. Darry had to stick a piece of ice on him."

"Man," Two-Bit shook his head. "Maybe I should go by your place, spread a little sunshine."

I nodded. "Good idea. Darry wants me to get him out of the house tonight."

"What for?" He looked puzzled, and I realized we hadn't told any of the guys about what Pony told us about Paul. I haven't even told Steve. Darry said not to.

I shrugged. "Just to get Pony's mind off things. He's going a little crazy, you know, being stuck at home all the time."

"Where you gonna go?"

That's the thing. I had no idea. Normally, you know, we could just play football in the lot. But with Pony's knee, that was out. We could hang around here, I suppose. Pony could play pinball and me and Steve could play pool, but Buck doesn't really like it when we hang around unless we're paying customers. Paying customers besides just the change we put in the pinball machine, pool table, and jukebox, that is. Pony loves the movies, but he knows I don't. If I suggested a movie, he'd know something was going on. We could go to the park, but the cops like to push everybody out at sundown.

"I don't know," I finally said. "Maybe just down to the Dingo."

Two-Bit shrugged and handed me four dollars for his gas. "Keep the change, cutie," he winked at me.

"Shut up," I laughed, tucking the bills in my pocket.

I sure hope he can get Ponyboy laughing. When I woke him up this morning, he was real quiet. I know he's still thinking about that dream. He 'fessed up, too, that Two-Bit told him about Randy. I promised I wouldn't tell Darry, though. Two-Bit still wore the faint shadow of a bruise from that punch Darry gave him Saturday night. He sure didn't need another one.

"SODA!"

I turned toward the garage. By the sound of it, it wasn't the first time Steve had called for me. "I'm coming!" I yelled. "Hold your horses!"

Still worrying over Pony, I ducked into the darkness of the shop.


	37. Chapter 37

My mouth dropped open as I ducked into the garage and saw blood on the floor. My heart skidded in my chest.

"Steve?!"

"About time," Steve groused. He was in the back of garage, fumbling around in the first aid kit with one hand, the other holding the bottom of his t-shirt over his left eye. "Give me a hand here, will ya?"

"What happened?" I asked, grabbing a wrapped gauze pad and spinning him toward me. I tore it out of the wrapper and dumped a little peroxide on it.

"I was changing the drum on that monster," he flung a hand toward the car, "and damn near took my eye out on this metal shaft sticking out of the wheel well."

"Out of the wheel well? What was it doing there?" I asked, pulling his hand down from his forehead. There was a deep gash running right through his eyebrow.

"Hell if I know, Soda!" he answered as I pressed the gauze to the wound.

"Alright, alright," I said. "Don't get testy. How was I to know you were bleeding to death? Press that tight." I watched the gauze go red, already wasted, and sighed. "Oh, man. That needs stitches. I gotta go tell Buck."

"That'll make his day," Steve grumbled.

I burst through the door. "Buck!"

"Soda," he said calmly from the end of the bar, where he was polishing glasses, "I'm right here. No need to holler."

"Steve's bleeding all over the place. Cut himself under a car," I said. "He needs stitches."

Buck frowned. "How the hell did he do that?" he asked, already coming out from behind the bar.

"He said something about a piece of metal sticking out of the wheel well," I said as he shoved open the garage door. There was a thud and a yell as Buck smacked Steve with the door.

"Shit, Steve," Buck said, grabbing him and pulling him to his feet. "What were you doing standing so close to the damn door?"

"I was coming to get a towel! This gauze is for shit!" Steve griped. Blood ran down his face.

"Stay here. I don't need you bleeding on my hardwood." Buck stormed back into the bar to get a towel.

Steve handed me his keys. I grabbed an oil rag and started wiping up the floor. The spots of blood were already drying. They'd have to be hosed off. That'd thrill Buck to no end.

Buck handed a clean bar towel to Steve, wincing when Steve moved the gauze to put the towel over the cut. "Heads bleed a lot. It's not that bad," he said. Then he sighed. "But it does need stitches," he agreed. "For God's sake, Soda, don't worry about the damn floor. Just get going. You get him to the ER and you get back here. Steve can call for a ride when they finish with him."

"Can I at least help him with the forms so he don't bleed all over them?" I asked. Shoot. I mean, I know Buck's got a business to run and all, but you'd think he'd spare a guy a little compassion, what with him dripping everywhere.

"Don't dawdle over it," Buck pointed at me. "We're gonna be backed up now."

"Sorry, Buck," Steve said. Buck followed us out of the garage toward Steve's car.

"Don't worry about it," he answered, the frown easing up a little. "Are you on tomorrow?"

Steve nodded. "Not 'til eleven, though."

"Good. Get some rest. You'll be ok by then."

"Yeah."

Buck put his hand on Steve's head as he ducked into the car. I guess he was worried that with only one eye Steve might misjudge and knock his head on the roof. Then he shut Steve in the car. "Soda, you call me if you'll be longer than an hour, tops."

I nodded and slid behind the driver's seat. As I peeled away from the station, Steve grumbled,

"You'd think I asked him for a week's vacation in Maui."

"No kidding," I said. "And you'd think I asked to go with you."

The ER was packed.

"Oh, man. That's just great," Steve moaned.

"Maybe it won't be so bad. You _are _bleeding all over yourself."

"Yeah." He was a mess. There was a lot of blood on his shirt, some on his pants, a little on his shoes and a whole bunch drying on his hand and up along his arm. The bar towel was looking pretty red, too.

The admitting clerk took one look at him and said, "Maybe you'd better come on back." That was when I noticed the bruise forming on his forehead. Guess that's where Buck hit him with the door. The clerk probably thought he had a concussion. Whatever. If it got him seen quicker and got me back to the DX quicker, I wasn't going to complain. Anything that kept Buck off my back was fine with me. "You stay out here," she said to me. "I'll be right back."

She took Steve through the double doors. I sat down in front of the little desk she'd been sitting behind, expecting to be waiting for a while. But she was no liar. She did come right back. She pulled out a clipboard, slid a sheet under it, and said, "Just the top section here," she drew a line with her pen, "and this right here."

I put everything down and was headed back to the DX in under twenty minutes. With traffic picking up, though, it'd probably be another fifteen or twenty before I actually got there. At a stop light, I picked up the wristwatch Steve left sitting on the dash. Shoot. It was after four! Darry'd be wondering where I was by now.

* * *

"Hey, Buck," I said, looking around the bar. A few guys I recognized from the neighborhood were nursing beers, and a couple of guys were shooting pool. "Where's Soda? I told him I'd pick him up."

"Steve tore up his eyebrow. Soda ran him over to the hospital for stitches." Buck rolled his eyes. "He'll be back in a bit."

"How'd he do that?" I asked.

"I asked him the same thing. Soda says he cut it on a piece of metal sticking out of the wheel well of the Pontiac. So I went under there, and sure enough, almost did the same damn thing. I don't know what the hell it is or why it's sticking out like that, though."

I lifted my eyebrows. "Well, I guess I'll sit down and have a beer until he gets back."

Buck nodded. "How're things on the roof?"

"Hot. Murphy was on our backs all day, trying to get us caught up after all that rain." I was sore all over from the pace he'd demanded.

"Weatherman says there's more on the way. Maybe by the weekend."

My heart sank. No. No, no, no. That would mean Maggie'd have to wait on the roof. She'd be back to fussing over the ceilings.

"Don't take it so hard, Darry," Buck smirked, "It'll be over by Monday."

I shook my head. "I'm supposed to start stripping a roof for a friend this weekend."

"Glutton for punishment, aren't you?" he ribbed.

"Something like that," I replied. "I hope it blows over."

"Well, you know those weathermen, Darry. Ain't half the time right, anyway." He chuckled and tossed his towel under the bar as Sharon walked in. "Sharon, I gotta keep an eye out front until Soda gets back. Can you handle things in here?"

Sharon smiled at him and then at me. "Sure, Buck." She watched him go. "Hi, Darry," she said.

I smiled politely. She's been making eyes at me ever since I can remember. Me and about twenty other guys we know. "Hi."

"What brings you in here?"

"Just waiting on Soda," I said, turning my eyes toward the TV. I hoped Soda would get back soon. I didn't have the energy to deal with Sharon's persistence today. Murphy really had given us a hard time today, and all I wanted right this second was to go home, make those calls, and talk Soda into a back rub.

A couple of guys came in, and they pulled her attention away. Gratitude swept through me like wildfire. Sharon Albright had a very hard time with 'no'.

For once, luck was on my side. Soda came in a few minutes later. He looked sheepish. "Hey, Darry. Buck asked if I could finish up the Pontiac. It's probably going to take me a little while. Steve was only on the first drum."

I stood up, putting money on the bar for my beer. "Why don't you call me when you finish, and I'll come back out?"

Soda nodded. "Guess you won't be able to make any calls, huh?"

I sighed. "Guess I'll try tomorrow."

I slapped his shoulder on the way by, eager to get away before Sharon spotted me leaving.

As I eased up to our house, I was relieved to see Two-Bit's car out front. I was glad Ponyboy had some company, for one, and I thought maybe I could still make those calls. I'd have to be sure to drill it into Two-Bit's head to stick around our side of town, though.

Ponyboy looked up at me from a game of cards and said, "Thought you were picking up Soda."

"He's running behind," I answered. "Steve cut himself and had to go for stitches. Soda's finishing up the car he was working on. I'll go get him when he's finished."

Pony nodded. "Hit me."

"Aw, man," Two-Bit groaned. "Kid, you should be in Vegas the way you're playing today!"

Pony laughed. "Twenty-one again! That makes how many times now?"

"Too many."

I peeled off my still damp t-shirt and thought about kicking off my work boots until Soda called, but I decided putting them on again didn't sound like much fun, either. After I scrubbed up in the bathroom, I wandered back out to the living room. Two-Bit, annoyed with Pony's winning streak, had dealt a hand of War, instead. I rolled my eyes. Last thing I needed was for them to get caught up in that game. I'd never get them out of here.

"Look, guys, I've got no idea how soon Soda's going to finish. Two-Bit, why don't you and Pony go down to the Dairy Queen or something." I handed Ponyboy two dollars. "Go wash up," I told him. The second he was gone I jerked my head at Two-Bit and went into the kitchen. Two-Bit looked at me curiously, but he followed.

"What's the big secret?" he asked, glancing at the kitchen doorway.

"I need to make some calls, and I don't want Ponyboy hanging around listening."

He frowned. "What sort of calls?"

I remembered then that the guys didn't know about the whole mess with Paul. I shrugged. I hated to lie, but it would take far too long to explain. "Well, I have to call the courts about the follow up hearing and confirm that doctor's appointment." Two-Bit did know about the sleepwalking, though, and he knew about the doctor.

"Ok. How long to you need?"

"Hour," I mused, "Hour and a half." Two-Bit looked suspicious, but he didn't argue. I chuckled. "Maybe I should've just sent you to a movie." I turned and opened the refrigerator as I heard Pony coming down the hall.

"What are you going to do, Darry?" Ponyboy asked. "You need to eat, too."

I shrugged. "I'll just wait until I pick up Soda, I guess."

He looked puzzled, but I knew he wouldn't turn down a chance to get out of the house. Being on lockdown was making him miserable, even though he finally seemed to understand where I was coming from. He'd been real good about it, in fact. He didn't even try to talk me out of it. But he frowned at me a little before shrugging and heading out toward the door.

I pointed at Two-Bit. "You stay on this side of town, and you don't let him out of your sight."

He nodded. "Loud and clear, boss."

I knew he knew I was dead serious. He still had a faint bruise to prove it.

* * *

"C'mon, Two-Bit," I pleaded. "I've got to at least try!"

I wanted to drive along Ketchum, cruising the bars to look for that car. He was having none of it, though. On one hand, I didn't blame him, seeing how much shit he'd gotten into with Darry over the kidnapping in the first place. But I'd promised we wouldn't get out of the car at all, just look in the lots and leave.

He shook his head. "No, way. I don't need another belting, thank you very much."

I sighed. "Two-Bit, they're going to kill him if they don't get their money. If the cops don't find them, Randy's going to die. All I'm asking you to do is drive. That's all. Just drive."

He didn't answer. I thought about how I'd called Officer Mahler today, told him that I thought the car might be a Chevy 210 but I wasn't sure. He said he'd get right on it, thanked me, and hung up. Normally whenever I called he asked me all sorts of questions about how I was doing, but this time he just hung up. He didn't have time to talk to me, which meant they were taking what the kidnappers said seriously. They believed Randy would die in two days.

Two-Bit sighed. "Man, I hope I live to regret this."

He changed lanes and headed for Ketchum.

We checked every lot up and down Ketchum. We hit Helsden, The Bone Yard, Jug's, Painted Lady, Lucky's, Elmer's, and even the Flamingo, which wasn't really much of a bar anymore. Nothing. Tons of old, ugly cars, but not _the _car.

"Maybe we should keep going," I suggested, "hit a few more."

"Pony," Two-Bit said softly, glancing at me. He looked...tired. "Man, I don't think we're going to find this car."

I looked down at my knees. We had to. We _had_ to find it. It couldn't end like this, with Randy dying. I can't be the last person to see him alive. Not the last friend sort of person. I couldn't stand the thought of it, of being right there in the car with him, then just abandoning him like that. I'd wanted to get help. But I'd been thinking of myself, too. I knew we were in big trouble. I didn't want any part of it, so I took my chance when I saw it. And I left him. I _left_ him with them.

"Pony…" Two-Bit said. I glanced up at him, and was surprised to see that he looked sort of sad, too. "It ain't your fault, what's happening with Randy."

I shrugged and looked out the side window. He didn't say anything else, just turned us toward home.

* * *

I wasn't sure whether or not I'd be able to get through to Wade. I started by calling the operator and asking for the number for the Marine Corps base in Camp Pendleton, because I remembered that was where Kent was taken. I had the operator connect me, and after about a half dozen transfers, yet another voice crackled over the line.

"Aaron Kitchner."

"Wade?" I asked, startled. I'd been expecting another dead end.

"Who is this?" he asked warily. I had a feeling he'd just gone all tense on the other end of the line.

"I don't know if you remember me," I said. "My name is Darrel Curtis. Darry. I'm–"

"Darry," he said, his tone a lot friendlier than it had been just a second before. "How's Ponyboy doing?"

"Well, that's the thing," I said tightly. "I need some help, if you can manage it."

He was really a nice guy about the whole thing. In fact, he cut me off before I could start telling the whole story.

"Darry, are you calling me long distance?" he asked. "You're not in California?"

"No, Tulsa."

"Give me your number. I'll call you back, save you the charges."

I guessed Ponyboy had told him a little about how things were with us. I didn't argue. I hadn't even considered what this call would do to the phone bill, and I was grateful Wade had thought of it. I rattled off our number, and we hung up. The phone rang a few seconds later, and I continued on as if we hadn't been interrupted.

I told him the whole story, and when I finished I was glad he'd thought to call me back. I'd been rambling on about the sleepwalking, the 'don't let go' thing, and that night on the porch for over half an hour according to the clock on the wall.

"God, Darry," he sighed, "I'm so sorry to hear all that."

"I'm sorry to dump it all on you, but I'm hoping we can find out if anyone saw Paul alive. Pony said he doesn't remember going back into the barracks, but he remembers Paul was on his rack, asleep or…" I didn't finish the thought.

Wade sighed. "I wish I could help. I'm not sure when they grabbed me, but I was so busy trying to fight back that I couldn't say what else was going on. I don't remember much from before lights out, either. Every day Kent chose his target, and it was usually Ponyboy. But that day, it was me, and I was so damn tired I started dozing off during rest hour. Toward the end, I think, Kent put up the detail sheets and I got off my rack to check them. I don't remember if Paul was on his rack or not at that point. I think he must have been." He was silent for a minute. I got the feeling he was replaying the night's events in his head. "Right after we came into the barracks for rest, Kent pulled Paul and Ponyboy outside. He'd pulled them out the night before, too, because Paul and Greg got in a fight and I guess Kent didn't like the way Ponyboy handled it. Paul came in looking sort of strange. He grabbed his jacket and went out on firewatch."

"Was that the first night Kent took them out back or the second one?" If Paul went out on firewatch, he couldn't have been dead.

"First night. I'm trying to remember the second one. The first night, Kent pulled them outside after the fight. The second night, it was the first thing he did, before Paul could even pass out the day's mail."

I listened as he wandered idly through what he remembered about the whole day, that last day before they were taken out of camp and dumped in Colorado.

"Kent rode my ass all day," he said, "and I was so damn beat I dove straight onto my rack the second we got in the door. He pulled Ponyboy and Paul outside first thing. I think I must have dozed off for a few minutes, because the next thing I remember is those detail sheets going up and finding out Kent switched the schedule. He put me on firewatch. Ponyboy cooked up this scheme in the latrine and pretended I'd hit my head so he could send me to the infirmary." I heard a smile in his voice. "He did what he could to stick up for me," Wade said, chuckling.

"Yeah," I agreed. "He mentioned in his letters feeling bad about the way the guys picked on you."

"I'll bet," he said. "Anyway, I got out of there. I know Paul was on his rack as I went by, but it's like you said. He was either asleep or...not." I swallowed hard as Wade continued talking. "His rack was right next to the latrine; my rack was next to his. Kurt's was across from Paul's on the other side of the room, and Greg's was next to Kurt's. Ponyboy was off in the corner, past the door. I remember being jealous because he was sort of off on his own a little." He sighed heavily. "Darry, I'm sorry. After I got back from firewatch and went to sleep, the next thing I remember is someone grabbing me. After that, in the cattle car, I had no idea who was who. I didn't see anyone again until I came across Paul in the woods, and by then he was dead."

I rubbed my neck. "Do you think there's any chance Kurt would know?"

"He might," he admitted. "I tell you what. Let me make a couple of phone calls. I'll see if I can track him down, and I'll ask him what he remembers about that night."

"Thanks."

"I'm going to have to add this to the file, Darry," he said carefully. "For the court-martial."

Shit.

"Wade," I asked, my whole body going cold right there in the kitchen. "Is Ponyboy going to be in trouble over this? If we can't prove that Paul was alive after what happened outside the barracks?"

"I'll do everything I can to keep it from getting that far, but it's a possibility."

Shit.

No sooner than I hung up with him, the phone rang. Buck said Soda was finished with the Pontiac and on his way to pick Steve up at the hospital.

"He said don't bother to pick him up, because he'll probably have to drive Steve home."

Right. I hadn't thought of that.

"Okay," I said. "Thanks, Buck."

I was glad to be home for the night. I was suddenly very, very tired.

* * *

_**A/N: Here you go. A nice, long chapter. Hopefully it tides you over long enough for me to work on some Christmas stuff! **__****__** Happy Holidays to all, by the way!**_


	38. Chapter 38

When Two-Bit and I pulled up to the house, I thought for sure Darry'd be mad at us for being gone too long. I fully expected to walk in the door and start him yelling at me, asking how just how long it takes to have a couple burgers. But Darry, Soda, Steve, and Tim were sitting in front of the TV as if the Superbowl was on. Soda looked back over his shoulder.

"Pony, c'mere!" he called. "They found Randy."

I felt my face go pale before I realized that Soda wouldn't be telling me to come see if he were dead. Darry noticed my face, though.

"He's alive," Darry said, squeezing my shoulder as I sat down on my knees beside his chair, already searching the screen for any sign of him. It looked like the entire police precinct was parked outside a crummy looking little house. I knew from the way the outside of the house got lighter and darker that all sorts of sirens were flashing, even if I couldn't see the colors.

"Have you seen him? Is he okay?" I asked, still watching, hoping they'd say something about Randy in particular, but the newscaster was going on about how after a short-lived stand-off, his captors surrendered.

"We caught a glimpse of him coming out of the house before everybody crowded around him," Darry answered absently, as glued to the story as the rest of us. "He was kind of rumpled up, and he looked filthy, but he was walking on his own two feet."

I listened to the newscaster named the three guys who'd been in the car. Two of the names meant nothing to me, but the last one, Jack Taran, that name hit me low down in my stomach. We weren't friends. He was a few years ahead of me in school, but he dropped out around the same time Soda did. But Tim knew him real well. It was one of the reasons why Tim and Darry drew apart a little more as they grew up. Jack didn't like Darry, and Darry didn't like Jack. Tim was sort of caught in the middle.

Jack had been part of Shepard's outfit until just after Dally and Johnny died. They'd had a falling out. Tim never said what it was over, but he and the rest of Shepard's guys gave him a pretty solid beating by way of exit from the gang. That was right before Tim's last stint in jail, which made Darry wonder if the sentence Tim served wasn't actually supposed to be Jack's. Anyway, after that, Jack started hanging around with the River Kings. I always got the feeling that Tim wasn't happy about the way things ended up, though. Like maybe he was less furious about whatever Jack had done and more…disappointed. Almost like he was hurt. And that was the last thing Tim Shepard would ever admit to being. Now that I think of it, that was when Tim started hanging around our place more.

I remembered the TV just in time to hear the newscaster explain how the "unidentified teen who escaped from the vehicle" gave the police additional information which, coupled with an anonymous phone tip, led to the home at 12th and Lister. I glanced at Tim. He looked back at me, but there was nothing in his face. He stood up.

"Well, campers, that's it for me. I'm on graveyard tonight."

"Yeah, see ya, Tim," Soda nodded.

Steve turned, and I saw he had a series of butterfly bandages over his left eye. "Catch you later," he told Tim before turning back to the TV. Two-Bit gave him a slap as he went by.

I followed Tim out the door. He heard me behind him, I guess, because he turned around. There wasn't anything I could say that would ever make him admit he'd been the caller, but I knew from the way he looked that it was him. "See you later, Tim," I said finally. If I said thanks he'd just act like he didn't know what I was thanking him for.

He just nodded and ducked into his car.

I stayed out on the porch until long after he'd driven away, thinking about it. Tim Shepard calling in a tip to the police? Dally'd be lunging out of his grave to beat the heck out of him if he could. But then, Tim had just enough of a mean streak in him to make that call out of spite. Maybe. Probably. It had to be him. Nothing else made sense. Except that it also didn't make sense for Tim to be helping the police. There was sure as hell no love lost between them and him. And besides, how anonymous could it have been? Half the squad knew him by his first name by now. I wondered if it was anonymous in the same way that I was the "unidentified teen". But that would be even more unreal.

I guess I was out there so long, just standing against the rail, that Soda came looking for me. He leaned with me, which probably wasn't smart considering how Darry's always saying that one of these days he's going to have to practically rebuild the whole thing. But it held, and we both just stood there looking out at the street as what was left of the sun eased down below the horizon.

"You okay?" he asked, looking at me.

"Sure," I nodded.

"Want to come in? Darry's fixing to break out the cake soon, and we thought we'd play a few hands of sevens."

I nodded again. Neither of us moved, though.

"Hey," I asked suddenly, after we'd been silent for another couple of minutes, "what happened to Steve?"

He explained about the metal poking out of the wheel well and how he and Buck almost did the same exact thing, because who would expect a piece of metal, which didn't seem to belong to the car itself, to be jammed there. It might as well have been another language for all I knew about cars.

We fell silent again for a while, and then Soda asked me, "What are you thinking about, Pony?"

"Tim," I admitted. "You know he's the one who ratted on Jack."

Soda's head whipped around. "You think?"

"He'd never admit it," I said, shrugging. "But I think so. He looked real funny after I showed him my sketch of the car. He said he'd seen it before, but that was all he'd say about it."

Soda put a hand on my shoulder. "Well, Pony, no matter how it happened, Randy's okay."

I nodded again. "Yeah."

"Let's go inside," he said, giving me a little push.

"Yeah," I repeated, still thinking about Tim as Soda put his hands on my shoulders and railroaded me into the kitchen for chocolate cake.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I'd really been hoping Darry would call off the appointment with Dr. Joseph's friend. For some reason, the fact that Dr. Pierce was a friend of his didn't seem to help. I didn't want to talk about things. I just wanted to be left alone to figure them out for myself.

The fact that I hadn't had a nightmare or done any sleepwalking wasn't enough. After all, it was only two nights from that last horrible dream before the appointment. I guess Darry figured that wasn't enough time to know if things were improving or not.

He sat in the waiting room waiting while the receptionist walked me back to the doctor's office. It wasn't anything like I expected. There was no couch. The last guy had actually had a couch, just like on TV. This guy only had a few chairs grouped by a couple of windows at one end of the room and your standard desk and three chairs arrangement at the other. He met me at the door and said to sit anywhere I liked, so I chose to sit in the corner by the windows. There were bookcases crammed under the windows, and some of the titles were of books I'd read. There was a huge pile of those puzzles on the table, the kind made out of twisted metal where you're supposed to figure out how to get them apart. I picked one up without asking, just to see how he'd react. But he just sat down and said,

"I'm Dr. Pierce, Ponyboy. I'm a friend of Dr. Joseph's."

I nodded. "That's what Darry told me." I didn't look at him. I'd already seen him when we met at the door. He was really tall and thin. Basketball player tall. And he had curly black hair speckled with a fair amount of gray. He wore glasses with thick, clunky black frames. Behind them, his eyes were cool, like Darry's.

"Why don't you tell me what you're here to see me about," he suggested.

Now I _did _look up. "Darry didn't tell you?"

"I spoke to him briefly," Dr. Pierce nodded, watching me fiddle with the puzzle. "But I'd like for _you_ to tell me why you're here."

"I don't want to be," I said, frowning. He just looked at me. I didn't see him do it, but I could feel him do it. "Darry and Soda–he's my other brother–are worried because I've been sleepwalking and having nightmares and stuff."

"And stuff? What stuff?"

I sighed. I'd almost had that puzzle, until he'd distracted me. "Stuff," I repeated. "It's a long story." He just waited. I expected him to tell me he had plenty of time for the story, no matter how long it took, but instead he just said,

"Do you like puzzles, Ponyboy?"

"I guess," I answered. I sure liked them better than pouring out my life story to him.

"What do you like about them?"

I thought about that for a few seconds, wondering what he was trying to get at. What he thought he might learn from my answer. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he said affably, "not everyone likes puzzles. I've got patients who come in, and we talk, and they never even look at my puzzles. You went straight for them."

I shrugged. "Something to do."

"Something to do besides talk to me, you mean." When I glanced up at him, he looked amused. I fought to keep from smiling. I didn't want to like him. I didn't even want to sort of like him.

"I guess."  
"You know what I like about puzzles?"

I didn't answer right away, but I could feel him waiting. Like he'd wait all day and not say another word until I said something. I thought about taking him up on that, but then I felt bad because I knew I'd be throwing away Darry's money for sure. If I talked, there was still a chance that it might help. Not much of one, I figured, but a chance. So I answered him. "What?"  
"No one would make puzzles if they couldn't be solved," he said.

I hadn't thought about that. He was right, of course. It didn't have to be easy, but if you couldn't solve it, if there was no way to solve it, who'd want to play with it?

Oh.

I grinned in spite of myself. I'd walked right into that one. "So," I said flatly, "you're going to solve me, is that what you think?"  
"No."

I glanced up from the puzzle. He was still watching me as I turned the interlocked metal this way and that. Every time I thought I was close, I was right back where I'd started. Nowhere.

"You solve puzzles," he said to me kindly. "Not people. Your sleepwalking and the nightmares and whatever else may have brought you here, those are the puzzles."

And just like that, the pieces I was holding separated as if by magic. I hadn't even really been doing anything that I'd thought would work. Huh. I was a little disappointed to have solved it that easily. We still had most of the hour left.

"Here," Dr. Pierce said, choosing another puzzle from the pile on the table. "This one's a little trickier." I took it from him, turning it over again and again, tracing the lines and trying to figure out where the answer would be. "So tell me about this other stuff," he suggested, picking through the puzzles. "I've solved most of these," he said regretfully. "I need to find some new ones." I didn't think it was possible there were any more to be had than the ones on the table. He had an awful lot of them.

We worked our puzzles in a mostly companionable silence for a few minutes. He was still waiting for me to say something, but in more of an offhand way. He may like puzzles, but I still wasn't so sure he'd be any better than the other guy. So I decided he could have the short answer.

"I got sent to military camp this summer for running away from home," I said. "But that place was mostly awful. My drill sergeant, this guy named Kent, he was…" What was a short answer for Kent? What wouldn't sound like I was just whining? "He was an asshole," I said challengingly. I waited for Dr. Pierce to object to my language. He didn't, so I continued. "He played these games with people, like he always had to know you were afraid of him. I didn't want him to think he could just…" I searched for the right words. "I didn't want him to think he could just _win._ Like he could make me do anything he wanted."  
"How did you respond to that?" he asked. I didn't answer, so he asked it again another way. "How did you show him that you weren't going to let him control you?"

"I did whatever I could to keep him from getting what he wanted," I shrugged.

"Did it work? Or did he get what he wanted, anyway?"

I swallowed hard. That was what I'd been asking myself since the night on the porch. Was killing Paul, if I'd killed Paul…was that what he'd wanted all along? And if it was, why? Why Paul? Why him in particular? Or was it not Paul in particular that mattered? Would he have done everything exactly the same if it had been Wade up against the wall? Or Kurt? What if it had been Greg or Charlie? Would he even have put one of them through it, had the opportunity arose?

I guess part of me just wanted to know why me? What was it about me that Kent hated so much? Why did he single me out so often? Me and Wade and, later, Paul? I didn't think I'd ever know.

"Ponyboy?" Dr. Pierce asked.

Darry's money or not, I had nothing else to say. We worked our puzzles in silence for the rest of the hour. Dr. Pierce was right. The new one he gave me was trickier. And it was the puzzle I wanted most to solve.


	39. Chapter 39

With Randy safe and sound, Darry didn't have any good reason to keep me on lockdown, but he sure didn't like the idea of letting me out of the house on my own. I made the mistake of wondering aloud whether Randy was still at the hospital or not. Seeing as how he'd been whisked away in an ambulance, it was a possibility.

Saturday morning, as Darry was getting ready to meet up with Tim to strip Maggie's roof, he said,

"Ponyboy, I don't mind so much if you call the hospital to see if they can tell you anything about Randy. Or maybe Mahler can tell you what he knows. But I don't want you setting foot there."

"Why not?"

He looked at me evenly, like the answer should have been obvious. "Because this whole thing isn't over. Maybe it never will be. People aren't any richer now that he's been found. They're still missing out on all the money they worked so hard for."

Right. I guess it should have been obvious. I shrugged. "Can't I go anywhere?"

He thought about that. I could almost see him going through place after place in his head, finding reasons I shouldn't go to each one. "Why don't you go to the library? Find something new to read."

That's a switch. Usually, he spent his energy trying to pull my nose out of a book, not shove it into one. I watched him pull his boots on. I guess I wouldn't mind something new to read.

Soda poked his head into Darry's bedroom, fresh from the shower. He grinned at us both. "Don't come crying to me when you're crawling tired by Tuesday," he teased Darry.

Darry smirked back at him. Everybody thought he was fairly nuts for taking on a roof job on the weekends. Me included. But considering all the time he was putting in with Maggie since meeting her, it was pretty clear he wasn't doing it for extra money. But we'd surely be the ones to suffer when he felt exhausted after working seventeen days straight. And that's only if he and Tim and Steve were able to finish in two weekends. If it went longer than that, well…I didn't want to think about how impossible he'd be to live with. For now, though, after having been off because of the rain on Monday and Tuesday, Darry wasn't feeling the excess of days yet.

After another little while, Darry and Soda left. I wondered what to do with myself. The library was a good idea, but I still wondered about Randy. I had his home phone number from the time that I tutored him in English. It made more sense to start there, but his mother wasn't terribly fond of me. She looked at me with disdain, and she never got my name right. She called me Horseboy, making a face like she'd sucked on a lemon. I wasn't too hot on the idea of her answering and having to tell her my name once again.

Still, it made more sense to call there first. I was relieved, though, when I heard a male voice pick up the phone, though I didn't think it was Randy's. "Is Randy home?" I asked.

"Who is this?" the voice asked warily.

"My name is Ponyboy Curtis. I'm a…I'm a friend of his from school," I said.

There was silence. Then, softly, in the background, I heard, "Randy? Do you want to talk to someone named Ponyboy?"

There was a shuffling, and there was a muffled conversation that I couldn't quite catch. "Ponyboy?"

He sounded weary.

"Randy?"

"Yeah."

"I just wanted to call, you know, and see if you were alright."

"I'm fine," he said stiffly.

How could I answer him? It was pretty clear he wasn't fine. In fact, I wasn't sure he wasn't shoving down a lot of hatred just then. Like he might be mad at _me._

"I'm sorry, man," I said finally.

"Sorry?" he asked. Now he sounded a little surprised. Maybe he wasn't mad at me after all. "What for?"

"I…" What? "I'm sorry it took so long," I answered. "I told the cops everything I knew, but it happened so fast…"

"Ponyboy," he said flatly, "If you hadn't jumped out of the car…" He didn't finish that thought. "I was just thinking how I should be apologizing to you, for dragging you into it."

I wanted to ask him if they'd hurt him, or what it had been like. But I couldn't. If he wanted me to know, he'd tell me.

Our conversation fell flat again. We were bound together now by the events of that awful afternoon, and I got the feeling he didn't know what to do about that. So much was so uncertain for him just now. If there'd been any temporary mercy for his father, it was over now that Randy was back in the Adderson household. His problems weren't over. He was alive, but I figured Randy Adderson was far from well. And neither one of us knew what else to say.

"Listen," Randy said, "I'm sorry, but I have to hang up now. My mother is expecting a phone call."

"Yeah," I said, "that's okay. Will you be at school?"

"I think so," he agreed. "I don't know for sure. Everybody's talking about all these different plans."

"Guess I'll see you around, then."

"Guess so," he answered. "Bye, Ponyboy."

I said goodbye, but I was too late. He'd already hung up.

* * *

After a trip to the hardware store for supplies, Tim and I carefully set up for the job, pulling the two heavy planters that flanked the walkway up onto the porch and covering the bushes with a few old sheets. I wasn't crazy about where the guys from the city had left the dumpster I'd rented, but I didn't want to try to move it.

Finally, I tucked Maggie away in the house, warning her not to come outside unless we knocked. Last thing I wanted was to see her hit by debris. I thought about her, though, wondering what she was doing inside the house. Wondering whether she was standing somewhere below my feet at any given moment.

I'd warned Tim about the roof. I'd set down a slide guard along most of the north slope where we started, and I warned him to walk the trusses as much as possible. Still, I think each of us had a couple moments stripping the north slope when we slid a little, and I was glad I'd put the guard down. When he slipped the first time, he gave me a look as he righted himself.

"Hell, Curtis," he said, "Didn't know you had it in for me."

I grinned. "Wouldn't make sense to _warn _you."

He stopped to look up at the sky. "Think we'll get rained on later?"

I looked up, too. "Hope not. If those clouds get any closer, we'll have to stop and put up the sheeting," I said, referring to the plastic sheeting we'd brought. Either way, I intended to put it up. Hell, I'd put it up if there wasn't a cloud in the sky. No way was I going to let her get rained on.

By the time we broke for lunch, I thought we might actually finish stripping the roof in one day, though that would be a pretty good feat. For a house this size, it wasn't unusual to finish stripping the roof in one day, but because of the condition, we were being extra careful.

We'd tried for the most part to aim for the dumpster, but it was impossible to control some of the shingling, and there was plenty of debris on the lawn. When I knocked to let Maggie know we were down (as if she couldn't tell from the lack of footsteps thundering over head), I thought to myself that it looked like a mini tornado had hit only her house. She didn't say a word about it, though, just grinned and came toward me. I stepped back with an apologetic grin.

"You might not want to get any closer," I warned. "Even my brothers can't stand the smell of me when I come in from work. First thing I do is clean up and change my shirt."

She wrinkled her nose at me and stepped forward, anyway. Kissing me lightly, she said, "Aw, there's nothing wrong with a man who knows how to work hard." In the next breath, she added, "Let me get the two of you some lemonade."

I grinned again. "That sounds great."

Tim just watched it all from the steps, where he was already chewing on one of the four ham sandwiches Soda had thrown together. He fought a grin which gave way to a high pitched chuckle.

"I haven't seen you this wound up over a girl since Sally Peters gave you mono sophomore year."

Oh, Lord. Sally Peters. I hadn't thought of her in a long time. We'd made out at a party after homecoming, and about two weeks before Thanksgiving I got as sick as I'd ever been. I shook my head. "I thought I'd never forgive her for making me miss the last two JV games, but man, could she kiss."

Tim smirked at me. "I figured, the way you two played tonsil hockey."

I just bit into my sandwich.

Maggie brought out a few glasses of lemonade and a half full pitcher on a tray, and she gave a glass to each of us before placing the pitcher between us on the steps. She sat down nearby with her own glass and asked,

"So, how's it coming along?"

"Better now that we've got most of the north slope stripped," I said. "Might even finish the south slope today, too. It depends. We need to leave enough daylight to get the plastic sheeting tacked down."

"I'm just glad to be getting this roof taken care of," Maggie replied, sipping at her lemonade. "You don't know what a weight it's been on my shoulders."

I did, actually. The same sort of weight Ponyboy's been on mine lately. If only I could cover him up with something and make everything better, I mused. With Randy having been found, some of the weight seemed off his shoulders. But there was still Paul, and that weight was about a thousand times heavier than anything else on his shoulders. I'd told Wade not to call our house, that I would call him when I could. And even though I understood why he needed to put the whole thing in the file, I didn't see what help it would be in the case against Kent. After all, it wasn't like Ponyboy had told him about it. What good was a bunch of hearsay?

I finished my lunch, chatting aimlessly with Maggie and Tim, trying not to worry too much over Ponyboy for the time being. It wouldn't do any good, for one. And I needed to focus on the issue at hand: the weather. The still-distant clouds seemed frozen in the sky, which was a good thing. The air was still, though, and a bit heavy, the way it sometimes is just before the wind kicks up and shoves in a fresh storm. I figured we'd be playing a round of beat the clock later on in the afternoon.

I wasn't wrong. We got back up on the roof with renewed energy, and we finished up the north slope and moved to the south after a little backyard prep. Steve showed up at about three, straight from the DX. Things moved faster, which was nice. Sometime around five, when we were about three-quarters finished stripping the south slope, something in me said we'd better not try to finish, no matter how much I wanted to. When I stood up and just watched the sky for several long minutes, Tim stopped working, too. Then he looked at the sky for a minute or two and nodded.

Even with the three of us tacking down the plastic sheeting, the wind made it tough to control. But when we finally climbed down from the roof as the clouds clung menacingly to the rapidly darkening sky, I was confident that even if it rained, her house would stay dry.

Tim caught a ride with Steve. Both of them agreed to meet me back here at seven the next morning, unless it was raining or threatening to, in which case they would call the house to make other plans. I was alone with Maggie in short order, but I felt filthy and hot and damp with sweat. I kept my hands to myself, figuring like most girls she wouldn't want to get too close.

"I can't believe how much you got done in just one day," she said. Then she laughed at herself. "But then, I don't know a darned thing about roofing other than what you've tried to explain to me."

"Well," I told her, "it goes a lot faster when guys aren't sneaking extra coffee breaks or making excuses to get on the ground." That's the sort of thing that I had to worry about on the job, about riding the less experienced guys and the lazy ones so that Murphy won't ride me. You can say what you want about Tim, and a lot of it would probably be right. But one thing you can't call him is lazy. He knows how to work.

Maggie grinned up at me. "I'm glad I chose you."

Again, she seemed to be talking about more than the roof. I risked it and leaned down to kiss her, though I made sure the only part of me that made contact was my mouth. When I broke, she giggled.

"What?" I asked.

"You. You're trying so hard not to dirty me up you can barely keep your balance," she accused laughingly.

I grinned. "Well, I couldn't resist kissing you, but you don't want some smelly roof rat putting his hands on you, do you?"

She cocked her head at me. "I wouldn't object, so long as the roof rat was you," she answered, her mouth curving upward. And then she slid her arms around me, rose up on her tiptoes, and planted her lips on mine.

I couldn't seem to keep from sliding my own arms around her, though I still had that voice nagging in my head about how I should wash up first. She didn't seem to mind a bit, though. In fact I think she even leaned into me a little. I lost myself in her, gradually forgetting my worries as our mouths parted and reunited. Either the wind or our breath roared in my ears until we were swaying like the limbs of the trees, and I had to brace one hand against her front door to keep from falling over and pulling her with me.


	40. Chapter 40

I was reading one of the three library books I'd taken out when Soda rattled through the front gate. He came up and sat next to me on the sofa, and I was hit with that Sodapop smell: gasoline, oil, Burma Shave, and Black Jack gum. The latter he was chewing noisily, trying to get my attention, and I finished the sentence I was on, laughing.

He smacked my shoulder playfully and pointed at the sky. "What do you want to bet it rains tonight?"

I looked up and was surprised to see how much farther the clouds had advanced. Earlier, when I'd flopped outside to read and wait for Soda to get off of work, they'd been frozen much farther off on the horizon.

"I hope it doesn't," I said, shaking my head. "That'll just make Darry grouchy. And he won't sleep a wink worrying that water will get up under the tarps."

"Yeah," Soda nodded.

"Is Steve over there, too?" I asked.

"Yup. Darry said not to wait on dinner, so I guess it's just you and me."

"You want to make dinner right now?" I asked, confused. It was awful early yet for dinner.

"Nah. But I'm probably going to have a snack," he said over his shoulder, heading into the house to wash up.

"Going out with Wanda tonight?" I asked, watching him work on his nails. He grinned up at me.

"Thinking about it. Tips were pretty good this week. Except Steve's probably not going to be up to doubling after working most of the day and then helping Darry, so I don't know when to tell her I'll pick her up."

Yeah. It didn't usually bother Soda that he didn't have his own wheels because he could usually scare up a borrowed set. But tonight I think he knew it was anybody's guess when Darry would show up with the truck.

He called Wanda, though, and asked her out, anyway. I guess she said yes because he told her he'd call her back around seven to let her know when he'd be around.

"Where are you going to take her?" I asked, watching him search the icebox for something appetizing. I thought about Darry, about how I'd told him about the penguins. It made me smile. Soda grabbed a hunk of cheese and kicked the door closed.

"Not sure yet. Maybe the movies."

Soda doesn't go to watch the movie. If he got his way, Wanda wouldn't be watching it, either. I bit back a laugh and watched him assemble a half sandwich out of hunks of Colby jack and the heel of a loaf of wheat bread.

We flopped on the couch in the living room. Soda asked me through a mouthful of sandwich to turn on the TV. I was just headed back to the couch when Two-Bit strolled in. He grinned at us both.

"Well, ain't this just a picture," he joked. "You two sweethearts all cuddled up on the sofa watching…what is that?" He peered at the TV.

"Dragnet rerun," I told him.

"Aw," he cooed at us.

Soda, hamming it up, tugged me up right next to him and pet the side of my head. I socked him in the shoulder, laughing. Two-Bit disappeared into the kitchen and a few seconds later I heard the icebox rattle open.

"Water only, between meals!" Soda and I called out together at the same time. And then I tried to duck away, but he socked me, calling "Jinx!" in a sing-song voice.

He chuckled at me as I kicked at him.

"Sheesh," Two-Bit said, carrying a glass of ice water into the living room, "Darry might as well be here, himself, since you guys are going to hold me to his drink rationing."

Soda's smile grew wider. "Well, if you didn't come over and drink so much in the first place, he wouldn't have to start making all sorts of rules. Pony here's a growing boy," Soda teased me, giving me a good-natured shove. "He needs the milk."

"Yeah, yeah," Two-Bit grumbled. "So let's play some cards, huh?"

The phone rang just as he was starting to deal blackjack. Soda popped up before I could, and he ducked into the kitchen to grab the phone.

"Hello?"

I listened, wondering who it would be. I liked to try to figure it out before Darry or Soda said something to make it obvious. It got so I was pretty good at it, too.

"No, he's not here. Do you want to leave a message?" There was a pause while Soda listened. "No, this is Soda. Yeah. Oh. Oh, hi." He sounded a little startled, and I wondered who it could be. "No. Okay, I'll tell him when he gets home. Thanks. Yeah, bye."

Soda sat back down and peeked at his down card without another word. I got the feeling he was upset about something, even though he'd sounded friendly enough on the phone. I peeked at my down card. Five. That made eleven all together.

"Hit me," I said to Two-Bit. Turning to Soda, I asked, "Who was that?"

Soda tapped his face card for a hit and shrugged. "Just a guy Darry works with."

I looked at Soda. His face revealed nothing, but somehow that didn't sit right with me. "Who do you know that Darry works with?"

"Dave Kenyon," Soda shrugged again. Oh. I thought sure it was something else, but Dave called once in a while to see if Darry wanted to get a drink or play some pool. It was one of the rare times that Darry did anything with anyone other than the gang these days. Still, Soda'd seemed taken aback in a way I wouldn't think he would be about Dave.

"Oh, man," Two-Bit laughed, sticking me with a five and Soda with a nine. "I'll bet you're bust," he pointed to Soda, "and you're probably wondering whether or not to hit again."

I grinned. "You'd be right," I agreed. "But I'll stay."

Soda smirked. "I'm out," he nodded, flipping up a ten to go with his four and the nine he'd just been dealt.

We goofed around until about six-thirty. Soda gave up on cards, tossing his hand down in the middle of a game of sevens, and went outside as if he could will Darry home with the power of his mind. Two-Bit glanced out the screen door.

"What's with him?"

"He's trying to make a date with Wanda," I said, "but Darry has to come home so he can use the truck."

Two-Bit grinned and got to his feet. "Hey, Soda, if you're looking to double, I can ask Kathy if she wouldn't mind."

My stomach growling, I got up to start dinner, leaving the two of them to discuss their own details. I was surprised, though, when they came back through the house only long enough for Two-Bit to check with Kathy and for Soda to put on a clean shirt and jeans and call Wanda. I'd thought they'd at least stick around for dinner. There was going to be a lot of leftover casserole, that's for sure. I didn't mind that so much, but I was so tired of spending most of my time alone in the house that I almost wanted to beg them to take me along, which I knew wouldn't exactly work for two guys and their dates.

I didn't let on that I was disappointed. Soda would drop everything and stick around to keep me company, I knew. And I didn't want him to miss out on his life just because I didn't have one of my own. I just nodded a goodbye as they popped their heads into the kitchen to tell me they were leaving and kept on stirring the boiling noodles.

* * *

_"Puny!" _

_Someone gave my rack a kick, and I bolted upright. Kent stepped back._

_"On your feet, Private!" he snapped._

_I got up. I just wanted to go back to sleep. But then I noticed that all of the racks were empty. Where was the rest of the barracks? I blinked. Kent barked at me to get out to the Roster on the double, and then he disappeared._

_I couldn't find my boots. It sent a little flutter of panic through me. What would Kent prefer? Should I get out to the Roster in my socks and meet his timeline, or should I be a little late but fully dressed? I had a feeling that no matter what I chose, it would be the wrong choice. Just then I caught sight of them in a little alcove I didn't remember ever seeing before, and I grabbed them up and put them on. _

_I went to the Roster, and no one was there. That was what he wanted, I realized, as Kent grabbed the back of my neck and shoved me back toward the barracks. I had taken too long, and he'd sent the others to the lake. Everyone except Paul, who was waiting in the usual place. He was quiet, resigned to it._

_"No," I shook my head. "He hasn't done a damn thing wrong!" _

_Kent's eyes flickered a little. Surprised delight. I'd just raised my voice to him. Why had I done that? I knew better. I knew it would only make things worse for Paul, but I was so angry. So angry._

_And so it began again, that same stupid standoff. Kent threatening, and me just trying to do whatever it would take to give Paul the easiest time I could. But you couldn't call a nightly beating easy, no matter how few hits you had to deliver. And Kent got up in my face worse than usual. He shoved me this time. He pushed me, and he kept saying my name._

"Puny, stop!" he cried.

I froze, blinking. Stop? What? He'd never told me to stop before.

"Pony…"

I blinked again. He'd never said my real name before.

I blinked again and was looking not at the barracks, but at the back wall of my own house. Darry, looking desperate, was standing where Kent had been just seconds ago. And in my left hand, I was holding the end of our garden hose. There was no sand in it, and it wasn't cut short, but I knew exactly what my dreaming self had been doing. I dropped the hose, feeling sick.

"Pony," Darry said softly, reaching up to rub the back of my head. "C'mon inside now."

Tears stung my eyes, but I clenched up and managed to rein them in before things got too far. When was this going to stop? Inside, the lights were bright. Blinking rapidly, I realized it wasn't even that late. It didn't look like Darry had even gone to bed yet. And Soda wasn't back from his date, either.

No wonder, I thought as I blinked again and was able to read the kitchen clock. It was only a few minutes after eleven. Darry probably hadn't even locked up yet for the night, which would explain how I managed to make it out of the house in the first place.

Darry slung an arm around me and said, "Let's get you back to bed."

I shook my head. "I don't want to," I said. I knew he could feel the shiver that ran through me.

"It's okay," he said, yawning as we crossed the threshold of my and Soda's room. "I can stay in here, you know, on Soda's bed."

I felt stupid and babyish at how relieved I was when he said that. But I didn't argue. I started to get in bed, but then I realized I really did have my boots on, which was funny because I'm pretty sure they'd been at the back of the closet. I pulled them off, though, and left them at the foot of my bed.

Darry sat at the edge of my bed, and he just watched me as I got settled and tried to find a comfortable position. But comfort at this point had less to do with how I was settled and more to do with feeling embarrassed at having to have my older brother tuck me in so I could go to sleep. I just wanted things back to normal. I wondered why I'd ever been amused by the sleepwalking. It sure as hell wasn't funny right now, looking at the aftermath all over Darry's tight, pale face. Seeing the frantic, tamped-down worry in his eyes as he pretended everything was normal made my stomach turn. I felt like I might lose the casserole all over the place, and that just made things even worse.

"Pony?" He asked softly, and I realized with horror that somehow, without warning, a tear had escaped and was rolling down my face.

I turned toward the window quickly and swiped at it. Too late. He knew. Of course, he knew. Hesitantly, he reached out and rubbed my back, trying to do it like Soda does it.

"It's okay, Pony," he said quietly. "You're going to be alright."

That was a lie he wished was he truth if I ever heard one. But I didn't say anything. I just clenched my jaw and tried to keep any more tears from escaping. I guess Darry didn't miss it.

"No, Pony," he said a little louder. "Don't do that. Don't. It's just me," he said. "You don't have to lock it up for me."

He started rubbing my shoulder in circles. If I didn't know it was him, it could have been Soda, after all. They were Soda's circles. Soda's unconditional circles. That did it. I started to cry. I knew it wasn't Soda. It was Darry. Darry, the brother you don't cry in front of. But I was crying, and he wasn't cold. He wasn't. He was there, talking softly to me just like Soda would have been.

"I don't–I don't want to do this anymore," I said, meaning I didn't want to sleepwalk. "I don't know how to stop–" I shuddered. "I don't know how to stop it."

"I know," he said softly behind me. "We'll figure it out, Pony. It'll take a little time, but we'll figure it out."

"I'm sorry," I told him. "I don't want to scare you and Soda."

"Shhhhh," was all he said.

The circles worked their usual magic, even though it wasn't Soda making them. I felt sleep pulling me down even as I heard Soda's voice whispering and Darry's answering back. I tried to get back to the surface, but I just kept sinking until I couldn't hear them anymore.


	41. Chapter 41

By the following Thursday, Darry was feeling the effects of working nine days in a row. He was grumpy and sore and when he came in from work, he washed up as usual, but he never came back out into the kitchen. When Soda came in from work, Darry still hadn't come out from the bedroom. I followed Soda into his room. Darry was flopped face down across his bed, fully dressed except for his shoes, snoring softly.

Soda grinned at me as we backed out of the room.

"Should we just let him sleep until he wakes up, or should we wake him up for dinner?" I asked, watching Soda try to decide what we were going to eat.

"Depends," he said, pulling a pot roast out of the freezer compartment and putting it down next to the milk to thaw for tomorrow night. Then he fished around in the icebox until he came up with some leftover chicken from two nights ago.

"Depends on what?" I asked, watching him go through the cupboards next. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for, even if I didn't.

Soda turned to me with a smirk. "Depends on whether it's edible."

I laughed.

I helped him shred the chicken, and he put it in the large soup pot. I missed watching him put anything else in it, though, because two things happened. First, the phone rang, and I went to answer it. When I said hello, though, no one answered. It sounded like the line was still open, but even though I said 'hello?' several times, nobody said it back. Then I heard a click. Second, I was just hanging up the phone when Two-Bit banged in the door. He always has a way of gathering up the available attention, at least for a few minutes.

I gestured to him to be quiet, pointing down the hall to Darry's room. He got the picture pretty quick. He wandered into the kitchen to peer over Soda's shoulder. I laughed again, this time at the mad scientist quality of the scene. I said as much to Soda and he started really hamming it up, hunching over the pot protectively and giggling madly. _That_made me think of Macbeth and the scene with the three witches chanting, "Double, double toil and trouble; Fire burn, and caldron bubble." I kept that to myself, though.

After about thirty minutes, it started to smell really good, whatever it was. The thing about Soda is that whatever he cooks is either pretty good or completely inedible. There isn't much in between. Going by the smell, I figured this was bound to be one of his successes.

Soda went back and forth on whether to wake Darry up. He went back to his room a couple times and came back without waking him up. Two-Bit voted to let him sleep because Two-Bit knows how grumpy he can be when he's exhausted like that, but Soda ended up waking him up just in time to eat.

As it turned out, Soda made this sort of soupy, stew-y sort of thing. And it had a kick to it because Soda put in all kinds of spices…so many, he couldn't even tell us what all they were. There was corn in it, and there were kidney beans in it. I saw onion and tomatoes, too. It was sort of like chili, only with chicken and corn in it instead of beef. We ate it with bread and butter. Darry was quiet, but he did tease Soda that this one was worth waking up for, which made Soda grin.

I was sort of disappointed that there weren't any leftovers. With Soda, you can't have the same thing twice. Even if he makes the same thing again, it will be different because he never measures anything and he doesn't write anything down. So you could have the same dish ten times and it would never taste exactly like you remembered.

Darry moved stiffly, which meant his back was sore. He rolled his head on his shoulders and then rolled his shoulders, trying to work it out, but in the end he still looked stiff. Soda noticed it, too.

"Why don't you get the dishes for me tonight?" he asked me. "That way, I can give Darry a backrub."

I nodded and grabbed Two-Bit before he could slink away. He rolled his eyes at me, but he didn't argue. He just started clearing the table, bringing me empty bowls and glasses.

Leaning backward, I saw Darry move down the hall to his bedroom again, Soda trailing behind. I felt bad for Darry. On one hand, he wanted to help out Maggie. He liked her a lot, I thought. He always came home happy when he'd been at her place, and he was in a good mood every time he knew he was going to see her. But on the other, he had at least eight more days to go to finish her roof, if everything went smoothly.

Poor Darry.

* * *

With Soda kneading my shoulders, pressing his thumbs against the base of my neck where a big, angry knot sat stubbornly, I was half asleep again. Still, as relaxed as I was already, I couldn't help but tense back up when he said, sort of apologetically,

"Someone called and hung up again, Darry. While we were making dinner."

Three times recently, someone called. Ponyboy happened to answer all three times, and the person hung up each time. I didn't know whether it was something to do with Randy, which scared the hell out of me, or if it was Wade. I'd told him not to call, that I would call him. But so far, I hadn't had a chance to call without Ponyboy around. I didn't want Ponyboy to know I was talking to Wade, but over the last day or so I realized I might have to tell him. What if this thing blows up in our faces? What if they pull Ponyboy back to that camp to ask him questions? Or, God forbid, what if they want to involve the police and arrest him?

No. No, they couldn't do that. You can't arrest someone on hearsay. My telling Wade about that night on the porch…that was all just gossip until Ponyboy told it to them himself. Still, how was Pony going to feel if next time Wade called, he slipped up and started talking to the wrong person?

"I need to call Wade," I mumbled, trying to keep myself awake long enough to form a plan with Soda. We could get him out of the house again, couldn't we? I tried to remember when Soda's next day off would be. Not until Saturday. And Saturday, I was going to be crawling around on Maggie's roof from dawn to dusk. No time for phone calls. Maybe if we moved fast on Saturday, we'd finish early on Sunday and I could call then. Soda would be working, but if Two-Bit came around I could always send him and Pony to the store to pick something up for me. The way we went through food, we were bound to be out of a few things by then.

I drifted. Maggie drifted back into my mind, and I remembered those deep kisses we'd shared on her porch on Saturday. And again on Sunday. But maybe now wasn't the time to be remembering those moments, seeing as how Soda was working all the kinks out of my back. So I steered my mind back to Ponyboy, even though doing so brought worry back with it.

He'd scared the hell out of me the other night. He'd walked right past me, right through the kitchen to the back door. I must've said his name a dozen times, everything from a whisper to a holler, and he just grabbed the hose, looking right through me with those dead eyes and that…nothingness in his face. But his body…that was another story. His body wasn't dead. He'd been all clenched up, and his breathing had been ragged. And then, just barely, came a little twitch in his jaw, the only sign of distress on his face. The only evidence of how deep his wounds really were.

If standing in the yard watching reality creep into his awareness was strange, putting him to bed was downright surreal. It reminded me he was still just a frightened kid in a lot of ways. But in the next breath, if you judged by the shadows in his eyes or by his blank face, you'd be hard pressed not to see a tired...man.

I opened my eyes, surprised at that thought. But there it was. There was another side to the fear and the confusion that were so apparent in him these days. Ponyboy had a ways to go yet, but lately, hidden behind a fog created by the nightmares and the sleepwalking and the emotionless composure he tried so hard to maintain, if you looked really closely, there he was…the faint first shadow of the man that he'd become someday. Like the grownup Ponyboy was superimposed over the little kid Ponyboy that persisted in my mind, despite all the evidence to the contrary. My heart squeezed in my chest. God. Was this how Dad felt, those times when he'd look at me or Soda for just a little too long? Was this what he was discovering when that odd bewilderment overtook his normally sharp, alert gaze?

I thought of it again, of the way Pony'd looked in the rain at camp, standing so tall, so proud against everything Kent had done. Granted, Pony had locked the full punch of horrifying awareness away, but he'd suffered a lot he still remembered, yet he was still determined to stand up against it rather than bow down to it. And it was true of that whole mess with Randy, too. He'd run from the car, from the kidnappers, but he hadn't run from the situation itself. While I'd been busy wanting to tuck him safely away under lock and key, he'd been determined to stand up, to fight, to help.

And these wars inside him, these nightmares and the restlessness that drove him to wander even in sleep, these were all just more proof. He was growing up, trying to find that place…that place that would take the events of the last two years and turn them into something he could live with…a corner for the darkness, a place for it to abide in peace without tainting the hope only he could recognize.

With Soda still kneading, I slid back into sleep, this time riding on the tails of that little hopeful streak Ponyboy kept alive in me, time and time again, just when I felt there was none at all left.

* * *

On Saturday morning, Darry seemed to hit his second wind. But, then again, maybe knowing he was going to see Maggie put the ease back into his step. He stopped walking like a zombie and more like Soda…lightly. Carefree. I didn't miss the fact that he whistled as he headed out to his truck to pick up Tim and Steve. I wished Soda was up so we could laugh about it together, but he'd come in really late last night.

As I sat down at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal and a banana, I caught sight of the calendar and the big red circle on the 25th. COURT 11. Soda's writing. My court hearing. I wondered what the judge was going to say. If he'd be like Mrs. Davis, silently rooting for us, or if he'd be like Mrs. Jacobs, intent on driving us apart?

And it was three weeks, I realized, until the first day of school. Well, three weeks and one day, if you considered that school didn't start until the day after Labor Day. Darry had marked that box with a simple "M". Maggie. I wondered if he was finally going to take her out on a real date. I also wondered if he was ever going to bring her around to our house so we could meet her.

The morning blurred by as I listened to the radio, wandering around the kitchen and the living room. Bored. Bored out of my mind. I cleaned up what I could, but the house was still looking pretty good. Darry still wasn't crazy about me going places alone, even with Randy safe and sound, so I was still mostly on lockdown. I'd managed to wander down to the DX a couple times last week. Even Steve seemed glad to see me.

Soda wandered out at about ten-thirty, just as I was settling on the couch with the library book He sat down next to me, scrubbing his face with both hands. He grinned at me.

"Two-Bit says there's a rummage sale and small carnival in the parking lot at the shopping center. He's coming over to get us at one."

I wasn't too sure what sort of excitement there was in a small time thing like that, but anything was better than seeing these four walls all day long again. Besides, Two-Bit could make hanging around a funeral parlor fun. It was more like I should be worried about the trouble we'd get into than how campy the place would be.

**

There were quite a few people at the rummage sale and mostly little kids on the handful of rides. It was small scale, but it was something to do. Two-Bit wandered the rummage tables, and I worried for the folks who owned all the stuff laid out on them. They had no idea who they were dealing with.

Of course, I worried that he'd try to palm something and someone would catch him. Last thing Soda or I needed was to get dragged into a rap like that. So I made sure to keep a safe distance from Two-Bit without losing him completely in the crowd. I looked at a table of really nice leather billfolds and thought of Darry's tattered one. I almost wished I had some money. I might buy him one and put it away for Christmas. They were really tuff.

I wandered further, past purses and belts. Soda was looking at ball caps at another table. He liked to wear them sometimes, like at the DX, though Buck got on his case that the only caps he should be wearing were the ones with the station logo. But he wasn't serious about buying any, anyway. He just looked at a few, pointing out the ones with the funniest slogans.

Past the wares up for sale, there were a few game booths. Soda gave me a couple dimes, grinning stupidly. That was when I realized what he saw. One of those shooting games. Knock over so many ducks, get a choice of prizes. I shook my head.

"Soda, these things are rigged. Even Annie Oakley couldn't win."

"C'mon, Pony, give it a try," he urged.

Darry doesn't like to admit it, but for some unknown reason, I am the best shot in the family. Soda isn't really in the running. He's not into hunting. He usually stayed home when Dad, Darry, and I would go fishing, but he sometimes tagged along for hunting trips. He got bored, though, because he usually missed his targets. Thing is, I don't really like to kill things. I mean, I know I'm a hypocrite. I eat plenty of animals. I just don't want to be personally responsible for how they end up on my plate. I much preferred shooting tin cans off a fence or skeet shooting.

So I wasted a couple of dimes and several minutes shooting at stupid tin ducks, bullseyes, monkeys, and elephants. But I couldn't get them all down in a row. I told Soda as we were walking away that the targets that wouldn't fall were probably welded permanently upright. He clapped me on the shoulder.

"Ok, ok, so you were right," he admitted as we caught up to Two-Bit, who was pitching pennies at floating carnival glass.

Four years ago, Two-Bit won his mother three drinking glasses. Ever since, he's been trying to win a matching fourth glass. We usually have to drag him away before he spends every last dime of his money.

We spent a good fifteen minutes watching him try for that elusive green glass, the final piece to complete the set. His mom was really tickled when he won the first three, showing them off to our Mom and Dad like they were straight from the White House or something. Maybe it was because that day was one of those rare days when everybody is carefree, or maybe it was because he hardly ever got to do anything with his mother since she had to work such long hours to support them. Whatever the reason, Two-Bit had been trying ever since to get her a fourth glass, even though his mom had said the three glasses made the perfect set: one for her, one for Two-Bit, and one for his kid sister.

"Damn it!" He seethed. "I was so close that time!"

We waited for the glassware to make another lazy revolution on their little foam rings. Soda and I gave each other a look as Two-Bit rapid-fired another bunch of pennies, and they clinked and tinkled against the various dishes, bowls, and vases. I cringed as I watched a penny hit the edge of that coveted green glass and bounce off of it, falling into the water with a disconsolate plop. Two-Bit's face fell just a little, for just a few seconds. Then he smirked and shrugged and gave up.

Soda slapped his shoulder. "C'mon, let's get a hot dog or something."

Two-Bit nodded and fell into step with us.

We spent another hour or so eating our way through the little fair, first with hot dogs, then with Sno-cones, and lastly, with funnel cakes. After that we hopped on the Ferris wheel and took a dizzying, half-sick spin in those spinning cups. Stupid to do it after eating, but that was part of the fun, too.

Eventually, though, we had to call it a day. I flopped in Two-Bit's car and headed back toward the house with that sun baked, over-stuffed feeling. But I felt good. I was surprised as we passed the clock at the First Union Bank. It was nearly five. I hadn't realized we'd spent so much time at that little carnival. Almost four hours, seeing as how Two-Bit had shown up at our house a little after one.

I was even more surprised to see Darry's truck out front already. He must have just gotten home, though, because he was just climbing out of the cab as we pulled up. He watched us pull up and headed our way. I wondered why he was home so early, but Soda beat me to the punch, asking,

"What are you doing home while it's still daylight?"

Darry grinned. "We got the sheathing up and laid the felt down and decided to save the shingling for tomorrow. We even picked up all the nails from the yard." He shrugged. "Of course, it doesn't hurt to have three guys working. And we don't take as many breaks as the guys at work slip in, either." He looked at the three of us. "What have you guys been up to? You look like you've been in he sun all day."

Soda shrugged. "We went down to Arkansas Center. They were having a little carnival flea market thing."

"Did you have fun?" Darry asked, looking at me. I nodded along with them.

"Yeah, sure," I said.

As we headed into the house, Darry called over his shoulder, "Hey, Pony, can you grab the mail?"  
I turned back toward the box, pulled the few envelopes out. I glanced down, expecting to see the usual bills. Instead, I saw my name neatly printed in block lettering. And when I looked at the return address, I lost a heartbeat somewhere and my breath stalled in my chest.

"Pony?" Darry's voice sounded wary.

I didn't answer. I just stared at the name on that envelope and wondered whether or not to open it. Wondered why I was even holding such an envelope in the first place. Not that I minded hearing from him, but I didn't remember giving him my address. So I could only wonder why he'd taken the time to track me down. And that was why my hands went cold. Something didn't feel right about it. I had a horrible feeling just looking at the pale green envelope, just knowing that it couldn't contain anything good.

I felt Darry appear next to me, and I didn't have to look at him to know he was looking down at the letter in my hand. I figured we probably stared at that return address together.

_KURT SLOZACK_

1815_ MONROE ST NE_

_ALBUQUERQUE NM 87108_

* * *

_**A/N: Sorry to be gone so long. I worked 36 hours in three days. Thank heavens for New Year's Day! Happy New Year!**_


	42. Chapter 42

"Pony," Darry said, reaching for the letter, "Maybe you should let me look at it first."

I pulled it out of his reach and ducked past him after handing him the rest of the mail. Why was Kurt writing me? I felt stupid and paranoid but the only reason I could think of was Paul. But I hadn't even _remembered _it, much less mentioned it to Kurt. So if I hadn't known, how could he?  
Darry sighed as I sat down on the top step and just looked at the envelope for a second. The silence on the porch was so complete that tearing the envelope open seemed deafening. I barely noticed him as he eased down beside me, resigning himself to waiting.

_August 6, 1967_

_Ponyboy-_

_There weren't any Darrel Curtises in the Tulsa phonebook. There were eight D. Curtises. I was pretty sure I remembered seeing the name of your street on one of your letters from home, though. I really hope the right person is reading this._

_Anyway, if you are I know you are wondering why I'm writing you. Someone called a couple of days ago and my mom picked up the phone. She got so upset that I went to see what it was all about but that just made it worse. She got very angry and signed at me to go away._

_She was acting so weird I went into my parents' bedroom and got on their extension to find out what was going on. Man, I can't tell you how surprised I was to hear Wade's voice on the other line. But that shock was nothing compared to the shit he told her. I'm sorry, man. I knew Kent did something to Paul but I never would have guessed what._

_Things are pretty tense around here since we got home. Neither of my parents mention camp, and if I say a word about it, they tell me to forget all about it and "look to the future". Mom refused to put me on the phone with Wade. He really tried hard to get her to let me talk. She said she was very sorry to hear what you were going through but there was no way she was putting me on the phone. And then she waited until he hung up first, so I couldn't even try to catch him before he hung up._

_Anyway, the bottom line is, you didn't kill Paul. You came into the barracks looking pretty sick, and you went to your rack. Paul came in a few minutes after you, and he eased down on his rack like it hurt him to move. A couple minutes after that, Kent came in and slapped up new detail sheets. I'm surprised you don't remember Paul being there…you went right by him when you went into the latrine after Wade. Remember? You pretended he was hurt and pulled him off firewatch. Paul was still alive when they grabbed us too. I caught sight of him thrashing around for about half a second before someone got a pillowcase over my head and started tying me up._

_I don't know about you but it's been sort of strange being home. I can't sleep. Every noise I hear, I think I'm about to get jumped and dumped all over again. I know I'm home but I still jerk awake at every little sound. My brother came home on leave for a week when we first got back and he told our folks I wasn't sleeping so they've gone guerrilla protective on me. In fact, I hope I can even get this letter out of the house._

_Ponyboy, I really hope you get this and it helps. You took a hell of a lot more shit from Kent than I did, and I've got no right to complain. If they end up dragging us in for the court-martial, my parents are going to go apeshit, but don't worry. I'll tell those military jerks everything I know._

_Take care. _

_Kurt_

Shock and relief coursed through me in equal measures. Oh, thank God. I closed my eyes and just enjoyed the feeling of a weight I didn't know I was carrying lift off of me.

When I didn't offer it up, Darry gently took the letter from me. I opened my mouth to tell him it was all okay, but I couldn't get a sound out. I heard the screen door open and Soda's perplexed voice ring out.

"What's going on? What're you guys doing out here?"

Darry held up a hand, his eyes roving over the page. Soda moved up behind me. I looked up and back at him, and I guess he didn't like the look on my face because he knelt down next to me. I tried to talk again. This time, the words made it out, rattling like a rusted chain.

"I didn't kill Paul," I said roughly.

Soda didn't ask questions. He just grabbed me in a strangle hug from behind, rubbing my head and grinning ear to ear. Then he looked at Darry. We waited for him to finish. Even though I knew he heard what I'd said, he kept reading all the way to the end. When he finished, he held the letter out to me with his left hand and rubbed my head with the other.

After a couple minutes of silence, he looked at me. "Are you okay?"

I nodded. "Yeah, sure." I waited a beat. "You called Wade?"

Darry nodded. "I didn't know what else to do, Pony." He glanced at Soda. "We figured not knowing was worse than knowing one way or the other."

I nodded again, rising. "Thanks," I said. Darry didn't get up. "What?"

He looked at me with a troubled expression and told me what Wade had said about adding it to the file for the court-martial.

"I didn't kill him," I said, shrugging. "That should mean something." Still, I felt a little icy kick in my stomach.

Darry and Soda nodded together. "You're right," Darry agreed, standing.

We went inside in single file. I guess Soda had said something to Two-Bit because he didn't seem overly curious about what the three of us had been doing outside for so long. He just kept eating the cake he'd helped himself to. I shook my head. How could he be hungry after all the junk we'd just eaten at the carnival?

Darry offered to start dinner, but me and Soda shook our heads. Two-Bit, of course, could still manage a seven course meal, but he just shrugged. Darry cracked a grin.

"Ate yourselves half sick at that fair, huh?"

Soda and I grinned but didn't deny it. Darry grabbed himself an apple, obviously figuring on tiding himself over until later.

We spent the rest of the evening goofing around. I was surprised when Two-Bit dealt the first round of blackjack and even Darry joined in. He usually just listens to the game from his chair while he watches whatever sporting event he can find. My winning streak from the other day continued, though, and even Darry and Soda narrowed their eyes at me, trying to figure out how I was cheating. I wasn't, but I'm not sure any of them really believed it.

After winning my twelfth straight hand, they all threw their cards at me, and then Darry, smirking, threw the rest of the deck at me. I launched myself over the coffee table at him, taking him completely by surprise. And since I couldn't possibly win against him on my own, Soda joined in. Two-Bit just sat back watching us like he was at a wrestling match, hollering input at Darry.

"Hey!" Darry laughed, rolling out from under us both only to suffer an attack from me from behind and Soda from the front. "Guys," he chuckled breathlessly, "ease up. I can't breathe."

Soda fell for it, and Darry leapt on him, taking me along for the ride. I gave up and started laughing, and I laughed so hard I couldn't really do much but watch Darry pin Soda, who flailed around as though someone was about to stick a hot poker in his eye. Guess he was hoping to wriggle out from under Darry's bulk.

"C'mon, Pony," Two-Bit urged as I found my second wind and tried to gain some leverage by planting my left foot on the floor and pushing, trying to shove Darry off of Soda.

"Yeah," Soda grunted under Darry's weight, "c'mon, Pony!"

Eventually, though I tried and tried again, Darry wouldn't budge. The heaving of his back as he gasped with helpless laughter was a sound none of us had heard in a long time. I mean, the night Mrs. Davis stopped in, he'd barely just pinned me down. He'd chuckled a little bit, but it was nothing like this, with the three of us panting and cackling and sweaty and tired.

I let go and rolled onto my back on the battered old rug, thinking it had sure seen its share of roughhousing over the years. Soda lifted his head and looked at me, grinning, as Darry sat down beside him, still chuckling. After a couple minutes of nothing but the sound of us all gulping air like water, Darry got to his feet.

"I can't wait anymore, guys," he said. "I'm starving. You can either have dinner now or you can reheat it later."

I was pretty surprised when I wandered into the kitchen a few minutes later and saw Darry grating a huge block of cheese. Oh, man. Oh, man! My mouth started watering right away. That could only mean enchiladas. Darry _never _made enchiladas anymore. He was always too tired. There are other things he makes that I think take more work, but he says enchiladas _feel_ like a lot of work.

He made them with the leftover roast, pulling it apart with a fork and dumping it in a pot with some diced onion, chili powder, oregano and cilantro. I helped him tuck the meat into corn tortillas. He made the sauce and smothered the rolled tortillas with it, then dumped a lot of the cheese he'd just grated on top. I was glad when he didn't find any olives to put on top. I don't like them much, but he and Soda love them.

By the time they were done, I was starving, though I hadn't been particularly hungry while we'd been cooking. Between the four of us, we cleaned out the casserole dish. Soda pulled a face as he realized there would be no leftovers. He grumbled even more when he realized it was his night to do dishes. Baked on cheese and enchilada sauce aren't so easy to clean. Like me, he was quick to grab Two-Bit to help him. Me and Darry escaped to the living room, grinning conspiratorially at one another.

Even though there'd been a couple of other good nights recently, this night was the best night I could remember in a long time. And when it came time to go to sleep, I slept. I didn't roll around on my bed for what felt like hours, trying to clear my head only to wake up terrified. And, so far as I knew, I slept the whole night through without dreaming.


	43. Chapter 43

Pounding the last nail into the last shingle was something I'd been looking forward to since we began stripping Maggie's roof. That anticipation only continued to build once we arrived at dawn and got started. I wanted to be sure we had enough time to finish today, so even though Tim and Steve gave me dirty looks for the first couple of hours, I was glad we'd started early.

It was hot, but more than that, it was muggy again. I didn't see any clouds in any direction but wondered if there was a storm on the way just the same. Well, as long as it waited until the end of the day, the weather could do whatever it pleased. I wouldn't mind a day off this week. The money be damned. I just wanted to sleep and not do any bending over anything.

I have a habit of getting into a groove while roofing, just mechanically doing what's become second nature and letting my mind wander. Ponyboy would find that odd, I'm sure. I know he thinks I never daydream, that I'm always focused and paying attention. And although it isn't the safest place in the world to consider one's life, I do an awful lot of thinking, worrying, and dreaming on rooftops.

With summer waning (though you wouldn't know it by the temperature) I could only think of Ponyboy and school. I'd have to take him to get some new sneakers. His had holes in each toe and were a grayish-brown color but had once been white. And I'd have to take him soon, or else he wouldn't be able to break them in before school started. He hates brand new shoes: the feel of them, the smell of them, and especially the blinding whiteness of them.

Lord. I felt like we'd been to hell and back together this summer, the three of us. He wasn't out of the woods yet, either. I'd spoken to Dr. Pierce. Ponyboy sits in his office, intent on the puzzles on the table, answering only what he wants to and effectively ignoring or dancing around the rest. Dr. Pierce doesn't seem worried about that. Not too much, anyway. He said Ponyboy had a lot of fear and a lot of rage to work through, and he's stubbornly taking his sweet old time at it.

Dr. Pierce said one of Ponyboy's greatest strengths is his perseverance, which I also see. No matter what gets thrown at that kid, he gets up again, even if it is the last thing he wants to do. He might try running from things from time to time, but he always makes it back home. I think that night on the porch he made it back home. He may still struggle, but that's the point. Struggle. Don't sink.

Last night, goofing off in the house, I'd really missed that. The last two years have felt a little like an endless winter. Just work and breathe and eat and sleep and try not to think about anything, because what good does that ever do? It can't bring back Johnny or Dally, it can't take back any of what happened between Ponyboy and me the week Soda got shot, and it can't fix the horrors he faced at camp or the ones that followed once he got home. But last night, it was as if none of it had ever happened. If I hadn't known better I could have sworn I was nineteen again, just goofing around with my brothers, right down to that spot in the back of my mind that used to listen for Mom and Dad coming down the hall to holler at us to settle down. I halfway convinced myself one or the other of them would stumble groggily out of bed to give us the riot act for horsing around too much.

"Darry!" Steve yelled, waving his arms.

I glanced up.

"We're heading down for a drink. You coming?" Steve asked, wiping his face with the tail of his shirt.

We'd been at it a while already. I figured it was a good idea, even if I didn't want to lose momentum. Maggie practically met us on the porch, which made me laugh. She waited inside dutifully while we banged away, but when the banging stopped for any length of time, she always poked her nose out to see what was going on. She was right about being the nosiest person alive, but on her, it was endearing instead of irritating.

"How are my three roofers?" she asked, already handing Tim a glass of ice water. She made a face. "Sorry," she told him, "I ran out of lemons."

He gave her a reckless grin. "Long as it's cold and wet, I'm not complaining."

Steve gave her a soft smile, taking the glass she offered. "We're on fire up there," he told her. "We'll have this thing done by three, right, Darry?"

I grinned, too. "Maybe," I nodded. "You guys keep working the way you've been, we might even finish sooner."

Steve snorted as Maggie handed me the last glass. "Us? What about you? Every time I look over at you, you look like some sort of roofing robot, just pounding on and on. You never even notice me looking."

I didn't argue. I hadn't known he was looking. Maggie took her usual place in the white wicker chair and just listened to us banter back and forth. She didn't usually say much when we came down for a short break. She just refreshed us all and listened to us chatter about nothing as if it was the most exciting thing in the world. And when we finished, she just gathered our empty glasses, gave us a bright smile, and disappeared in the house as we headed back up.

Lunch was fairly much the same. She just brought us drinks to go with the sandwiches we packed for ourselves. She sometimes talked a little, but mostly she just listened. Not that we necessarily said much, really, but whenever we did start talking she was all ears.

It wasn't until the guys left, though, that she really came alive. She was charming and kind with Steve and Tim, of course, but once she and I were alone it was like she was completely open. Like she saved the best parts of herself for me. It never failed to make me half dizzy, and I usually slipped my arms around her before Steve even got completely away from the curb.

Just as I'd expected, we finished the cap off at around four and spent another half hour on clean up. And then, at long last, we were finished. At her insistence, I led Maggie down her own front walk, and we looked up at the completed roof from the street. She turned to me with that smile I never got sick of, and I grinned back a her. Steve clapped my shoulder.

"We'll see you later, Darry," he said.

I glanced at him. "Come by the house tonight," I told him. I had their money on the kitchen table. I figured I'd make supper. Tim won't admit it, but he's a sucker for a home cooked meal. Steve comes over even if Soda's cooking, but Tim is more discerning. He'll sometimes leave if Soda gets started in the kitchen.

Steve nodded again.

Maggie stood, one hand shading her eyes, just looking at that roof for the longest time. When she turned to me, her eyes were bright. "Darry," she said, "this is just about the nicest thing anyone's ever done for me."

I blinked. "I hope that's not true," I said, squeezing her hand as it searched mine out. "Besides, as much as I wish it was a gift, you paid me for it."

"Oh, that's not what I mean," she chided, making a face at me. "You didn't have to kill yourself all week on a roof and then still offer to spend all weekend doing mine!"

"Well," I shrugged, "you deserved a good roof. A lot of guys out there will charge you twice as much for a half-witted job. This one should hold you for a while, so long as we don't get an unlucky last minute tornado."

Tornado season typically runs March through August, though they can happen at any time of year. We were nearly halfway through the month. I hoped we'd stay calm and end the season on a high note.

"You about ready for a cold drink?"

I grinned down at her. "When am I not?"

She giggled. "You have a point there."

Inside, the rooms were quiet. One thing I always noticed was how quiet her place was. Nobody crashing into or over the furniture, nobody cussing up a storm, no TV blaring. Sometimes she had the radio down low, but mostly it was quiet, a book or magazine face down on the coffee table or an arm of the sofa. There was a lonely, sad quality to it. I remembered her father, how sick he was. How every time I saw her Maggie seemed just a little more emotional if the subject of her folks came up. I figured her mother must be at the hospital again.

I wondered if it was harder that way, death coming so slowly. What would it have been like to lose my mother and father that way, instead of in the blink of an eye? Was it easier, a quick death? Surely for the dying, it was. The thought of lingering, suffering for days, weeks or months…that made my chest go tight. I can't imagine having to watch someone thin out the way Maggie said her father had, just getting more and more hollowed until your skin sagged on your bones and the shadows under your eyes could drown a person. I won't say that losing my parents in the space of a heartbeat was easy. But I can't help thinking it was, in some ways, a blessing. We didn't have to stare into each other's eyes with that sick knowing between us.

On the other hand, if you lingered, there was time to consider what you wanted to leave behind. You could fix things that weren't quite right. Apologize for shortcomings, make sure the people that mattered to you knew exactly how much. Drink in everything you loved about life…in case you needed the memories for whatever came next.

With a quick shake of my head, I shook off those morbid thoughts and took the ice water Maggie offered. It might as well been a Pepsi for Ponyboy, it tasted that good.

We made our way out to the porch. I was surprised to notice that there were clouds on the horizon. They were still somewhat far off, but I didn't remember seeing them after that last water break we'd taken. I was a little like a kid hoping for a snow day, the way I hoped for enough rain to call off work. Tomorrow would make the thirteenth straight day. If nothing stopped me from working, Friday would make seventeen straight days. I tried not to think about it.

Instead, after I had my fill of water, I had my fill of Maggie. Or at least as much of it as she'd let me have on the porch swing outside her house.

* * *

**_A/N: Sorry again, folks. If roofs in the Pacific Northwest would stop collapsing from the weight of snow and ice, I could post this stuff faster! Here's to a 55 hour work week! _**


	44. Chapter 44

Darry had to wait for Tuesday, but he got his rain. Worse than the two days that straddled the end of last month and the beginning of this one combined, this rain seemed biblical in proportion and had Two-Bit ribbing Darry about building an ark. Maggie called to happily report that her parents' place was snug and dry, which made him smile. They talked for almost a half hour, which has to be some kind of record for Darry and the phone. He does what he needs to do with it. He doesn't linger.

After getting off the phone with Maggie, Darry ruined any hopes I'd had of doing something fun by announcing,

"Pony, this is a good time to get some school shopping done. Go put your shoes on."

Two-Bit cackled merrily at my discomfort on his way out the door to go to work. I did as Darry asked, but as I followed him out to the truck at a run, I said, "Darry, I don't need anything. I've still got a couple notebooks in the closet, and there are all those pens your boss gave you that he didn't need. I–"

"You need new sneakers, for one thing," he told me, twisting the key in the ignition.

I looked down at them. I did need new ones, if I was honest with myself. I didn't want to be. I hate new shoes. They pinch your feet, even if they are the right size. They're stiff and they stink and, I don't know. They're just too _new._ I frowned.

Darry laughed. "C'mon, Pony," he said, still chuckling as he turned at the corner to take us over to the little shopping center on Hobart Street, "we'll get you some shoes and maybe a couple of new pairs of jeans. Then maybe we can stop in on Soda on the way home."

I figured he wanted to take care of things before the money he'd made on Maggie's roof vanished the way money seems to do. I didn't really have an argument about the shoes, but I didn't really need new jeans, and I said so.

"Oh, yeah?" He stopped at a red light and cocked an eyebrow down at my ankles.

I peered down and noticed just a bit of the white of my socks was showing. Shoot. When had that happened? I grinned in spite of myself.

Shopping with Darry is torture. I remember shopping with Mom and thinking that was bad, the way she'd press on the toes of the shoes to see where our feet were in them and the way she'd tug fiercely at waistbands and make us bend every which way, asking how things felt. When Darry does the same things, it just seems worse somehow. I stepped out of the dressing room at Lieber's in a new pair of jeans and ducked away from him as he went to tug at the waistband. He smirked and left me alone except to tell me to try on a couple more sizes.

"What for?" I grumbled, heading back to the dressing room. "These fit fine."

I hated to admit he was right when I found another pair I liked better. He got me two of them, a couple of shirts, and the hideously, glaringly white shoes I'd tried on at his insistence.

"Now can we go?" I asked miserably, grabbing the bag he held out at me.

"Yeah," he said, "we can go."

He put his hand on the back of my head and gave me a little teasing shove. I ducked and grinned over my shoulder at him.

We rode over to the DX with my school stuff between us on the seat. When we pulled in, Soda charged out with a rain poncho on and flashed us one of his wild grins. "Hey, y'all! Can you believe this rain?"

Darry just grinned back. "Anything that keeps me off a roof for a few minutes sounds good to me. You guys been busy?"

He shook his head. "Nobody's going anywhere in this stuff except you two," Soda said. "I'm hoping Buck will let us pack it in early."

"If he does, call me or catch a ride with Steve. You're liable to drown before you make it home," Darry said.

"You guys coming in?" Soda asked, hitching a thumb at the Ace. It wasn't officially open yet, but Buck always let us come in through the shop.

Darry nodded. "For a little while," he agreed.

We were inside long enough for Buck to unlock the main door and for Soda's lunch break to come and go. I played a long game of pinball and nearly beat Soda's high score when two things happened. Darry decided it was time to leave, and Tim staggered in the front door, let out a funny groan, and dropped flat out on Buck's old wooden floor.

Me and Darry were beside him in about half a second. Darry snapped at me to stay back, as if Tim were a rabid dog that might lunge up and bite me. Gently rolling him over revealed blood all over his shirt, and still more pooling on the floor.

"Buck! Ambulance!" Darry called, but Buck, seeing that, was already on the phone. "Pony, damnit, get the hell out of here!"

"No, Darry," I said, crouching down, catching the clean bar towels Buck pitched our way, "we've got to stop this blood…"

He'd surely been stabbed. I wasn't one hundred percent sure where, but the vast majority of the blood seemed to be coming from his left side, just under his ribs. I put one of the bar towels over it and pressed firmly.

Buck appeared with a couple of blankets. There was a cot in the back, left behind by the previous owner. I guess Buck never bothered to move it. He put both blankets down over Tim's legs.

"We need to put his legs up," I said, still holding the towel, which was folded in half twice…four layers. I didn't feel wetness yet.

I tried to remember the basic first aid we'd learned. Shock. Watch out for shock. Tim was pale, and when I touched his wrist and hand, they were cool. There wasn't much else I could do in that regard. Darry tipped a chair so that it sort of made a little ramp and put Tim's legs up on it. Between that and the blankets, it was the best we could do.

"Is it slowing down any?" Darry asked me.

"Some, I think," I said, though I had to add the second towel on top as I felt sticky warmth begin to ooze to the surface of the towel. I added it carefully, easing it under my hand by degrees so as not to remove too much pressure from Tim's side.

We heard the sirens, and Soda and Steve, who probably hadn't seen Tim come in from their vantage point in the garage, came bursting through the door. Wild eyed, Soda rushed over. Buck held him back, seeing as how he and Steve were both wearing varying amounts of grease.

I heard the cacophony of their voices, up and down like a roller coaster, but I paid little mind to their words. I watched Tim, willing him to stay with us. I didn't know how bad it was, but I knew it wasn't good. Sharp objects and people weren't a good mix any which way you looked at it.

The paramedics came crashing inside, and one of them looked a little astonished as he took quick stock of the scene. I guess they didn't expect that we'd be trying to help in whatever way we could. That same astonished guy eased down next to me as his partner got the quick story from Darry.

"Good job, kid," the guy next to me said, gently putting his hand down just next to mine. "You can let go now. I've got him."

It took me a second to let go, but then I scooted back, still watching with wide eyes. Darry must have given the guy Tim's name, because he called it loudly several times to see if Tim would respond. He didn't.

Before I really knew what was happening, they'd loaded Tim onto a stretcher and into the back of the ambulance. Out on the street cars slowed as their drivers tried to get a look at what was going on. The police wailed into the lot, and the guy Darry'd been talking to leaned over and said something to the officer behind the wheel. The officer nodded, and the guys with the ambulance took off, sirens blaring.

I'd had enough of police. Truly, I had. And these guys were determined to squeeze every last detail from us over and over again until they were sure they knew everything we knew. All I wanted was to get to the hospital and find out if Tim was going to be okay. All the Pepsi I'd had that morning had me nearly begging to go to the bathroom. I guess that's why I initially missed all the loaded looks that passed between the cops and Darry, Soda, Steve, and Buck. I took my time in the bathroom, but when I came back to the rest of them, the first thing I noticed was how intent Darry seemed, talking quietly with the two cops. He looked sort of pale, actually. Tense. Strung really tight, if you want to know the truth. And then I noticed the looks they were all giving each other. And me.

When they finally let us go, Darry told me curtly to get in the truck. I didn't argue, not until I realized he'd just turned toward home instead of toward the hospital.

"Darry," I said, "We have to find out if Tim's okay!"

"We will," he said absently, still heading for the house.

"Darry," I nearly whined, "the hospital's the other way."

He looked at me like I was the biggest moron on the planet. "They think this has something to do with Jack Taran."

"I thought he was in jail," I replied.

"He is," Darry sighed. "Doesn't mean he doesn't have friends."

"So we can't go to the hospital because he's got friends?"

"Pony, they said it'd be a good idea to stay clear of the hospital for a little while. Whoever did this wanted Tim dead. It's not impossible to think they might be hanging around somewhere nearby."

That seemed a little too much like something from a movie, but it was no use arguing. Darry'd decided we were going home, that we were going to call in to the hospital for information. I tried not to think about the fact that Darry'd have me holed up in that house forever now. Just when I was finally starting to get a little freedom, too.

I guess Buck gave up and let Soda and Steve go not long after we left. I guess Darry'd told Soda to come home, because we huddled up in the living room for the rest of that rainy afternoon, trying to play cards between hourly calls from the hospital. First thing Darry had done when we'd gotten home was call Tim's sister, Angela. She'd gone down to the hospital, and she'd been calling regularly, usually with nothing new to say. It seemed like with each new ring, the dread got worse. I felt like I'd stop breathing altogether if my chest got any tighter, and when the phone rang again, we all jumped.

"Hello?" Three pairs of eyes watched intently as Darry listened. When he rubbed his neck, a lump shot up into my throat. Then he rubbed his hair and sighed, and I felt my face go pale. Soda put a hand on my shoulder. Darry said goodbye and hung up.

"He's out of surgery. The doctor told her they got him deep. They had to patch up his stomach. He's critical, but he's stable."

"Can we go see him?" Soda asked, his voice hoarse.

Darry shook his head. "Family only."

Steve groused that we _were_ family, but we all knew what Darry meant. Blood only.

I thought about what Darry'd said about the officers thinking Taran had something to do with it and a shiver coursed through me. Soda, who still had his hand on my shoulder, felt it.

"It's ok, Pony," he said softly.

No, it wasn't. And right then, it felt like it never would be.


	45. Chapter 45

Tim woke up, but he wouldn't talk to the police. He played dumb, pretending he didn't know anything. Couldn't remember. Too much blood loss, he said. The one time he'd helped someone, and look where it got him? If any one of us had figured him for being afraid, he'd have flattened us. Not that we'd blame him if he _was _afraid. They hadn't just plunged the knife into his side. They'd criss-crossed his chest with it, scoring deep enough to bleed heavily but not enough to damage any other organs. Just the stomach puncture, which the doctor said wasn't so bad as far as stomach punctures go. Another sixteenth of an inch, though…

Darry never did let me see him at the hospital. And though he struggled over the decision, he brought Tim to our place after he was discharged. I heard him and Soda deliberating on the night before Tim was released. Darry didn't want him at our place. It isn't that he doesn't care about Tim. He was worried the wrong people would find out where he was and would try again. And if they did, they'd have me in the same house as a bonus. Soda argued Tim shouldn't be left alone yet. He was still on painkillers, which made him sleep a lot, and he was still sore enough that he wasn't getting around all that well. Two-Bit's mom would have a fit, and Steve's place wouldn't work, either. Steve himself spent as little time there as possible, avoiding his old man whenever he could.

So Tim wound up staggering in our door and lived on our sofa for four days. It was nice to have him around, if you want to know. I was beyond bored to the point of being numb. Tim was a pleasant distraction. I'd bring him food and drinks and doped up the way he was, he sometimes got chatty as he drowsed there in that place halfway between waking and sleep. He said some pretty wild stuff. Almost like he was a Catholic sitting in confession. If Darry and Soda knew the sorts of tales he was telling me, Soda might not have won the argument about whether or not to take him in.

The other odd thing about having Tim around was that even though it was only four days, time seemed to accelerate while he was there, and it didn't stop once he went back to his own place. As if out of nowhere, we ended up on the 24th of August, on the eve of the follow-up hearing.

"Pony?" Darry stepped out on the porch, where I was trying to read a book. Thunder growled softly in the distance. I just looked up and waited. He sat down beside me on that ratty old sofa and stared out at the sky. "You've been sort of quiet today," he said. I wondered how anyone could tell, seeing as how I hardly talked, anyway.

I shrugged. "Social worker says this new judge is a good thing, right?"

Darry nodded but didn't move. "Doesn't mean much," he admitted. "I'm still pretty nervous. How about you?"

I was surprised Darry admitted to feeling afraid. But come to think of it, it seemed like he'd been making a point to tell me how he was feeling more often lately. Considering he never used to say a word about himself, these few times when he'd let his guard down lately were pretty significant. Like an olive branch extended. Like finding my brother again under the cold, hard shell he'd been wearing. Just realizing it _was _a shell had done a lot to fix things between us, without him even saying a word.

"Pony?"

I looked up at him. His face was still the careful mask it always was. Cool. Hard. But now I could sort of see past it, as if that mask was halfway transparent and everything he tried to hide was just below it. The little line between his eyebrows. The tightness at the corners of his mouth. The tiny twitch of his jaw you'd miss as easily as you might get lucky enough to notice.

"What if she's wrong?" I asked. "Or what if the camp told them about Paul, about all that stuff I hadn't said before? What if they don't understand I didn't want to do it?" I was suddenly cold though it was quite warm and very sticky outside.

Darry scooted closer. He'd been on the other end, with a whole person's width between us. This was another thing that had changed. We could talk without Soda between us to moderate the conversation, to make sure the lines of communication stayed open. We bumbled at it. It was awkward and clumsy more often than not. But in some ways, it was almost easier to admit things to each other _without_ Soda there…a fact that surprised the both of us equally, I think.

Darry was shaking his head now. "I've been thinking about that a lot, too," he admitted, sighing heavily. "I don't think it will happen that way, but if it does…" He hesitated. Under the mask I saw the faintness of a little desperation. "Pony, you've got to try really hard not to clench up the way you do. I know why you do it, why you had to do it. But this isn't the time to go blank. You know what I mean?"

Yeah. It was better to show emotion in court. Cry, even. Anything that would show the judge how messed up I was over it. That's what Darry was saying. It would be the last thing I'd ever consider doing, and he knew it. I just got colder. I mean, if Darry's sitting out here telling me not to close up, he must really think there's a good possibility that no one will believe me about Paul.

"I guess," I said aloud. I wanted to remind him again that the social worker had said this change to Judge Watts was a good thing, but I didn't. Repeating the same argument, showing him the same weak hope I'd been clinging to…it would just worry him more, I think.

The next morning, things felt a lot like they had the last time we'd gotten up to go to a hearing. Funereal silence filled the house. We all just rustled quietly about our business, getting showered, getting dressed. I wished I hadn't had breakfast earlier, because it felt like I was going to bring it up at any second. Not that I'd eaten much of it in the first place. Mostly we'd all pretended at it, pushing food around on plates only to scrape most of it into the trash.

Eventually, however, even the moments you most dread come to pass. We sat quietly in the courtroom as Judge Watts, who looked really young in spite of his silver hair, sat looking through the letters I'd written home to Darry and Soda as well as the letter from Kurt. Turns out Judge Watts _did _have the full scoop on what had happened at camp, including the whole horrible episode with Paul. Much to my surprise, Wade and Miller made an appearance. They had nothing but good things to say about me, but I still felt cold through the entire hearing, waiting almost numbly for it to be over or for the judge to ask questions.

Finally, though, he just dropped the letters, which he held and flipped through throughout the entire hearing, and said his piece. "A fifteen year old boy who is forced at gun point to abet a criminal is not himself a criminal. A boy who runs away at the very thought of being ripped from his home and turned over to the state is not a criminal. A boy who stands up against the sort of bullying and harassment that went on at the Raton City Juvenile Military Camp is not a criminal. A boy who witnesses claim ran full clip on an injured knee to embrace his frantic brothers is not unhappy in his home. Unlucky, yes. Impulsive enough to run out of the house in a temper, absolutely."

I sat with cautious optimism hammering in my chest alongside my heartbeat. It sounded like more positives than negatives, but sometimes you couldn't tell by that.

Watts took off his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Everything described to me by the state, Mr. Klein, is nothing more than a portrait of youth and naïveté, not delinquent behavior. Ponyboy Curtis gets almost straight As in school and his brother has held a steady job at a DX gas station for the last two years. Neither of these young men strike me as anything other than young men who got caught up in something bigger than either one could hope to control. I see no reason to change the order of things at this time. I certainly don't see a reason to uproot either of these young men from what appears to be a loving home."

Klein looked irritated but unsurprised. I'll bet he was hoping for a judge who would overturn everything Harmon had done and stick us both in the Howard McLeod Correctional Center down in Atoka. I was almost afraid to get too excited. It was hard to believe after everything that happened that it was finally over. I wasn't in trouble for what happened with Paul. At least not in Oklahoma. I wasn't sure if I could still be in trouble for it in regards to the court martial, but somehow I didn't think so.

We left the courthouse on a buzz of relieved excitement. Darry took us both over to the Mercury Diner to celebrate. It had been a long time since I'd felt so good, so free. I thought of those wild mustangs and realized that watching them, what I'd felt most was envy. They lived free, charging down the plains. Nothing hanging over them. With me, on the other hand, even though several weights had been lifted off of me this summer, I was surprised with each new one that lifted that I could feel even better yet.

After the hearing, there was one last week of summer before school would start the day after Labor Day. As it happened, the day after the hearing we had a horrible storm with tornado force winds even though no funnels were spotted. The construction company Darry works for was flooded with calls to repair roofing all over town. Though he was fairly exhausted most nights, and Soda had to give him more than a few rub downs, Darry accepted all the extra work. It would help with the hospital bills sure enough, and since Judge Watts had further stipulated that all our court costs be carried by the state, I guess Darry's own shoulders had a lot less weight on them, too.

On Sunday evening, the day before Labor Day, Darry came home from pulling yet more overtime. He looked pretty wrecked. Soda had just come home, himself, but I knew he'd waited to start dinner to see if Darry needed a back rub. I stayed on the porch steps and kept reading. If Soda needed me, he'd come get me. I was surprised when the screen door creaked just a few minutes later, and Darry came out with a fresh shirt on and a towel slung over his shoulders.

"How's it going, Pony?" he asked.

The air was charged up with something, but I wasn't sure what.

"Okay, I guess," I shrugged.

"One more day of vacation," Darry mused. "You ready for school?"

I nodded. "Sure." I was looking forward to it, in fact. He couldn't keep me home from school, whether there was a chance of Taran's guys getting hold of me on his behalf or not. Could he? Or was that why he seemed tense just now?

Darry reached down between us on the steps and picked up a small twig that rested there. I'd missed it, I guess, when I'd swept the porch earlier. He fiddled with it absently. "Pony, there's something I've been thinking about since that night you told us about Paul."

I tensed up even more. Maybe he could try to keep me home. Maybe that's what this was about. I opened my mouth to object, but he continued talking.

"Some of the things you said that night really got to me. I've been meaning to talk to you about it ever since, but things have just been so crazy. You might not remember," he said softly, still not looking at me. He stared straight out at the street, turning that twig over and over with his fingers. "You talked about having to get through everything alone out there, at camp. But I got the feeling that you weren't just talking about camp. Maybe you were feeling like all this stuff that's been happening the past couple years…like you had to get through it, all of it, alone." He threw the twig out into the yard and glanced at me. He started to look away, but then he seemed to change his mind and held my gaze. "Maybe at camp you had to get through things alone. And you did it. You _did_ it, Pony. You're a good kid, Ponyboy. A strong kid. But you're dead wrong about one thing. You don't have to get through things alone. You could be anywhere in the world, but if I thought for one second that you needed me, I'd find a way to get to you. Both of us would. Me and Soda."

I looked away. There was too much feeling in his words, and there was too much feeling in me. But Darry wouldn't let me hide. He put a hand on my shoulder and ducked his head, trying to meet my eyes again. I looked at him. It was impossible and yet it was easy all at once, which I know doesn't make any sense.

"Pony," he said quietly, "if I'd have known how bad things were for you at that camp, I'd have been right there trying to pull you out before Kent took things as far as he did. But your letters home," he shook his head, "things didn't seem so bad. You were alone this time, and I wish it were different. But the one thing you've got to take away from this is it's okay to ask for help. Everybody needs some sometimes. It's _okay _to be afraid. If I didn't have you and Soda to come home to…" Darry shook his head again, "Man, I don't know if I'd still even be breathing."

We just sat in silence for a few minutes. I thought about what he said. After everything life had thrown at us over the last couple years, it truly was somewhat of a miracle that any of us were still standing. Maybe I was so busy looking inward that I failed to notice all along that I had _two _people standing in my corner all along. Not just Soda, but Darry, too. Maybe I was so busy with my own feelings that I forgot to notice Darry had feelings, too. These weren't new thoughts. These thoughts had occurred to me the night me, Johnny, and Dallas, were brought back into Tulsa by ambulance. But even though they felt like they stuck then, maybe they hadn't. Maybe it takes one try to understand something so important.

Darry and Soda, they were like a safety net. Each in their own way, they'd done a little bit of saving me this summer. They were a touchstone in my life. Nothing else that came later could ever compare to the bonds we shared. I'd known that about Soda all along, of course, but Darry…it took me a long time to come around to the truth of it, that Darry and I might never see things in exactly the same way. But it was time––well past time, in fact––that we started seeing _each other_.

Darry and I just sat out there on the steps together for a long time. We didn't say much, we just watched the sky together until Soda poked his head out to tell us dinner was ready. Then I stood up, and I offered a hand to Darry, who looked sort of pained at the thought of having to move at all. He cracked a grin at me and put his hand in mine, laughing when Soda had to come and help. But we did it together, the three of us. Even though life would probably prove me wrong a hundred times over, just then nothing felt impossible. Life felt as though it had been cracked wide open, a million branches shooting out in all directions, each one a different path we could take. And even though we might wander away from each other from time to time, all those paths had one thing in common.

They all led us back to one another.

###

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_**A/N: Ok. So it still has some loose ends. This story was getting a bit too long, so I decided to end it there and worry about any loose ends in a series of shorter blips…maybe two or three chapters each. I definitely have some plans for Darry and Maggie that didn't get covered here. As for the rest, I welcome any feedback on what you'd like to see developed, if anything. Thanks for reading!**_


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